


I'm Okay

by DangerFloof



Series: A Two Parent, Two Bottles of Wine a Night Job [4]
Category: Bob's Burgers (Cartoon)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Awkward Romance, Competition, Complete, Consensual Underage Sex, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Family Issues, Family Secrets, Friends With Benefits, Holidays, Illegal Activities, Jealousy, Jewish Holidays, M/M, Mild Smut, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Party, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Rivalry, Teenage Rebellion, Teenagers, Underage Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-08-21 01:27:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 34,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16566971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangerFloof/pseuds/DangerFloof
Summary: The Belcher family is reunited for the first time in a year to celebrate Christmas.  Bob and Linda compete to see who creates the best party menu.  Tina, now a 20-year-old English major in Chicago, learns that sometimes, you can’t go home again.  Gene, 18, is a student as Seymore Bay Community College, and works at Warf Arts Theatre as a runner, where he discovers post-Lenny romance in the form of drag sensation Miss Justine Case. Louise, a 16-year-old high school junior, is split between doing well enough at school to take college classes next year, and raising hell with Zeke.  The Belcher siblings learn to see themselves, each other, and members of the community in a new light.





	1. ONE

            Gene licks his lips, tasting the minty balm he slicked on after lunch. The gold star on the dressing room door is freshly polished, the nameplate at eye level: _Miss Justine Case_. He’s worked as a runner at the Warf Arts Center for only three weeks, so he’s incredibly lucky to get to interact with the talent like this.

 

            As a runner, Gene is basically a general go-fer for the theater. So far, he’s helped with sound and lights (fun), ordered and picked up bagels and coffee for an all-hands backstage meeting (less fun), and helped repair one of the sets for Miss Case’s third act (not fun at all). Today, he's tasked with ironing the creases out of a seemingly endless series of white suits for the back-up dancers. After an hour, Lydia, the Center’s wardrobe mistress, waves him over to a rack of clothes.

 

            “Gene, be a dear and run the Diamonds number dress to Miss Case.” Lydia’s a pale woman in her fifties, with fire-engine red hair that flashes silver roots around her hairline, and sharp blue eyes that don’t miss a trick. He likes her, even though he’s secretly terrified of her, which he quickly discovered describes the sentiments of most of the theater crew, including the Director.

 

            Gene shocks himself by emitting an uncertain, Tina-like groan. He’s seen Miss Case at a distance several times, both in and out of drag. In drag she’s a true beauty, charming, with a lovely voice, lips that beg to be kissed, best known for her Marilyn Monroe impersonation. Out of drag, she’s a lean, man in his late twenties with light brown hair already receding at the temples and a big laugh at odds with his large, slightly sad green eyes. Either way, Gene thinks Miss Case is one of the most beautiful people he’s ever seen, and almost doesn’t want to meet her; they say you should never meet your idols, and he can’t bear the thought that Miss Case isn’t as beautiful inside as out.

 

            “It’s not a request, Gene. I’m too busy to hold anyone’s hand. She won’t bite.”

 

            So Gene hurries out of the room, holding the dress carefully by the hanger. Gene's learned a lot of things about the theater in recent weeks, among them that nobody argues with Lydia when she’s in _that_ mood.

 

            _This is a job, not a social call._ He takes a deep breath, and knocks on the door. “Miss Case?”

 

            Pause, then a male voice—slightly amused, rather than annoyed, as Gene feared—calls out, “Yes, honey?”

 

            “I have your Diamonds dress ready for you.”

 

            “Then you’d better come on in.”

 

            _Oh my God, she invited me in!_

 

            Holding the pink dress high, so the skirt doesn’t hit the floor, Gene turns the knob and enters. He’s not sure what he expected to see, but he didn’t expect to be greeted by the sight of the man sitting cross-legged on the couch, wearing a black t-shirt and sweatpants, crocheting tiny pastel blocks, obviously for an afghan.

 

            Miss Case looks up at him almost shyly from under long lashes. Following Gene’s gaze, he blushes a delicate pink, and shrugs. “My sister’s expecting. Of all the girls in the family, I’m the only one Nana ever successfully taught to crochet.”

 

            “I have two sisters.” Damn it, why did he say that? _Why would Miss Case give a crap about that?_

 

            But Miss Case smiles, a genuine smile that makes it to his eyes, and though it’s mid-December and the room is none too warm, Gene feels like he’s standing in spring sunshine. “Only two?” He leans forward conspiratorially. “I have seven.”

 

            “ _Seven?_ ” Gene breaths. “How many blankets have you made?”

           

            He snickers. “Way more than seven. I’m the middle child, and some of my sisters confuse their uteri with clown cars.”

 

            “One of my sisters said that if men had uteruses they’d be called duderuses.”

 

            The comment pops up out of nowhere, and Gene is so mortified by his runaway mouth that he turns almost purple with embarrassment. Miss Case, however, giggles, and everything is okay.

 

            Miss Case squints slightly, giving Gene an appraising look. He doesn’t seem disgusted by what he sees. “I’ve seen you around here before.”

 

            “Uh, yeah. Mr. Freemont, the lighting director, teaches at the community college, and he got me a job here.”

 

            “Mmm,” Miss Case hums softly to himself. “That was my way of asking your name.”

 

            “Oh! Yeah. Right. I’m Gene Belcher.” Should he shake hands with him? Is that correct? What’s the etiquette here?

 

            “I’m Michael Miller,” he says, and holds out his hand daintily. Gene takes it carefully in his own, gives it a light shake, then, in a fit of boldness, brushes Michael’s knuckles with his lips. Michael blushes again.

 

            “It’s lovely to meet you, Gene.”

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

            It’s after five and quite dark when Gene leaves the Center. Taking the bus would take almost twice as long as walking, Gene hates driving, and, though November’s snow is long gone, there’s still too many ice patches to risk riding his bike. He shoves his gloved hands in his pockets and makes his way home, for once impervious to the cold wind cutting through his coat, warmed by the memory of Miss—no, _Michael_.

 

            Gene figures he’s pretty good looking; average height, a bit doughy (he’s a champion hugger) without being truly fat. His wavy hair, typically pulled back in a ponytail, hangs past his shoulders, and his eyes—large, round, chocolate brown—have been described as “soulful” by more than one significant other. Still, it’s hard for him to imagine that he’d be a prize to a guy like Michael. Michael, with his high cheekbones, his lean torso, the beautiful, shy smile he flashed more than once at Gene from across the stage later that afternoon as he discussed scene changes with the director. If Gene didn’t know better, he’d think that Michael was flirting with him.

 

            Practically every building on the street shows sign of the upcoming holiday; nativity scenes in a few, Santa in most, strings of colored lights everywhere. Gene has to admit this is the most Christmassy he’s felt this season. He thinks again of Michael’s sweet smile, and though it’s too much to seriously believe that anything will come from his crush, all things considered, a fizz of hope lifts his heart.

 

            He stops at the restaurant and peeks in. Louise is standing behind the counter marrying ketchup bottles, grinning as she watches their parents, obviously arguing yet again, gesture wildly at each other. Damn it, he wishes Mom’s stupid Christmas party was over, so she and Dad would finally stop their month-long argument about the menu. Louise says something, and their father motions in her direction, triumph on his face. Linda waves her hands, frowning.

           

            _Nope._ This is all just one big _nope_. He unlocks the apartment door and steps in. He’s going to inevitably hear plenty about lil’ smokies vs hogs in blankets over dinner tonight. No way he’s going to get a head start.

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

            “Louise, will you get the damn phone already!”

           

            “Alright, jeez.” Honestly, she’d been so engrossed with watching her parents fight about the virtues of a nacho fountain versus warmed spiced olives that she’d barely heard the ringing.

 

            “Bob’s Burgers, taste the meat, not the heat.”

 

            “Oh, it’s _you_ ,” sighs the man on the other line.

 

            Louise rolls her eyes. “Hi to you too, _Ray_.”

 

            She’d know the voice of Ray from Fig Jam anywhere. He still hasn’t forgiven her for the infamous black garlic incident from seven years ago, which Louise thinks is totally unfair, given that her parents later paid the twenty she’d promised plus the cost of the pedicab he’d hired in an attempt to catch the Belcher kids. Come on, he made $35 on an $8 bulb of garlic! It’s a ridiculously long time to keep a ridiculous grudge; honestly, she’s impressed.

 

            “Yeah, tell your father his order is ready. Or don’t. I already have his money. I don’t care.” Ray hangs up, leaving Louise to make a rude gesture at the phone.

 

            “I know I didn’t see what I think I saw, Miss Missy.”

 

            Louise rolls her eyes. She turns and offers Linda a huge, fake smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mother.”

 

            “Are the olives and goat cheese ready, Louise?” Bob asks.

 

            “I guess, he just said your order is ready.”

 

            Bob pulls a small notepad and pen out of his pocket. “So, if we start the nuts tomorrow—“

 

            “Don’t worry, I’ll pick it up. I’ll just get the car keys and—“

           

            “No, Louise, you’ll get the shopping cart. It’s dark out, and it’s only three blocks.”

 

            “Oh my God, Dad—“

 

            Linda shakes her head. “It’s just easier, Louise.”

 

            Louise glares at her parents; apparently keeping Louise from making good use of her hard-earned license is the only thing that can unite her parents this evening. “How am I going to learn to be a good night driver if I never drive at night?”

 

            Bob pinches the bridge of his nose. “Please, just…please, Louise.”

 

            Muttering under her breath, Louise stomps down to the basement and pulls the collapsible shopping cart up the stairs. “I feel like some old Soviet grandma with this thing! Where’s my babushka?”

 

            She stops in the middle of the empty restaurant, struggling to unfold and latch the old cart into place.

 

            “Don’t be queen of drama,” Bob says in a truly awful Russian accent.

 

            Linda joins in, and her accent is even worse. “Standing in line four hours for beets and toilet paper not so bad. It gives you chance to catch up with neighbors.”

 

            “I hate you both,” Louise grumbles as she finally manages the last hook, and thunders out of the restaurant, her parent’s laughter in her ears.

 

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

            Louise opens the door to Fig Jam, setting the bell tinkling. Ray glares at Louise. “They sent _you_ ,” he sniffs.

 

            “As you see.”

 

            “I’m going to the back to get your father’s order. Touch nothing while I’m gone.”

 

            Louise waits until he’s in the back room before she smiles up at the newly installed security camera and very carefully, very deliberately, gives it the bird, then plants her middle finger on one of the imported chocolate bars by the register. (Actually, she’d love to snag one of those bars, just for the principle of the thing, but thanks to Sidecar’s sticky fingers and the resulting security camera, it’s not an option.)

 

            Ray rolls out two boxes on a cart. Louise steps forward to start loading up, but Ray flaps his hands at her, shooing her back. “I won’t have you just throwing everything around and breaking stuff. Your father will blame me.”

 

            Louise opens her mouth to object, but notices how carefully he’s wrapped the jar of imported mustard, how he’s even packed the puff pastry and Andouille sausage in cold bags. He really does care about his business, even though he hates his customers. It’s an attitude Louise can appreciate. Too bad he’s such a weeping anal wart; she’d love to talk delicacies with a fellow foodie.

 

            She pushes her cart home quickly. She’s hungry, it took forever and a year for stupid Ray to settle everything—he unloaded and reloaded the cart twice—and she’s sure by now everyone is waiting for her for dinner. Well, she hopes they’re waiting. Granted, Linda, as usual, threw enough ingredients in the slow cooker to make pot roast for an army, but Gene’s already abnormally large appetite seems to have doubled since he started working at the theater, and Louise would like something more substantial than mealy potatoes and gravy.

 

            “Hey pretty lady.”

 

            Louise doesn’t even bother looking at the creep. She reaches in her pocket to clutch her switchblade. She’s not the best with it, but Critter and Ice Pick have taught her the rudiments.  “Fuck off, perv.”

 

            “Missed you too, babygirl.”

 

            She spins, open-mouthed, to see Zeke in a blue coat and knit cap standing in the alley between the Belcher’s place and the empty building next door. He grins the big, goofy smile she swears she didn’t miss once the four months he was out of town, and beckons her into the alley. Louise abandons her sense of cool along with her cart and runs over, leaping into his arms. Her arms around his neck, his hands grasping her bottom, he presses her up against the wall, their lips fused together. Louise’s tongue darts into his mouth and he grinds against her, groaning. She wishes more than anything that it wasn’t so damn cold outside.

 

            Zeke breaks the kiss, breathless, and slides her down to the ground. He blinks. The Louise he left four months ago was his height; this Louise has a good two inches on him, and if his quick groping is any indication, she has an even better ass, too. “Damn, I wanna climb ya like a tree,” he mutters, more to himself than her.

 

            She slaps him, a quick pop across the cheek. “That’s for not telling me you’d be here early.”

 

            He grabs her wrists and pins them to the wall, the bricks scraping against her rough knuckles. They’re nose to nose, panting, inhaling the clouds of each others breath.

 

            “Don’t act like you don’t like it,” she growls.

 

            They share a slow smile, the promise of things to come.

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

            Gene is pulling garlic bread out of the oven when the front door opens. Banging, the scrapping of feet, the squawk of the old grocery cart, then Louise’s voice calls upstairs, “Mom! Dad! Look what followed me home! Can I keep him?”

 

            Bob sighs, rubbing his forehead. He doesn’t have the energy for this; he has a business to run and a cocktail party worthy spread to cook in six days. “Louise, we’ve been over this a hundred times, you can’t have a puppy!”

 

            “Aw, but I’m housetrained and everythin’, Mr. B.”

 

            “Zeke!”

 

            Bob leans over the railing, smiling, watching Zeke and Louise haul the cart one step at a time up to the apartment. “Gene, set another plate. Lin, Zeke’s here!”

 

            “Aw, Zeke honey, Merry Christmas!” Linda joins her husband at the railing. Zeke is walking backwards up the stairs, pulling the cart, while Louise is at the bottom, providing balance more than anything. Zeke glances over his shoulder at them, red-faced, slightly sweaty from his exertions. “Merry Christmas, Mrs. B. You don’t gotta feed me. I just wanted ta help Louise with this stuff.”

 

            “Of course we’re going to feed you, it’s dinner time.”

 

            Zeke and Louise make it upstairs and take their coats off while Bob and Gene put away the groceries. Linda fires off a glare at the boxes and bundles, as if each of them personally offends her, then turns and engulfs Zeke in a hug.

 

            “Look at you! I put you on the schedule for the day after tomorrow. Sit down over by Louise, in Tina’s old chair.”

 

            Everyone takes their place at the table, and begin passing dishes. Louise loudly complains about the potatoes—flavorless carb-bombs—and demands more carrots, while Gene takes double helpings of garlic bread. Zeke is just content to have a hot, home-cooked meal with some of his favorite people. The feel of Louise’s thigh pressed against his more than makes up for the fact that the roast is crying for more sage, and he couldn’t agree more about the potatoes.

 

            “So, how’s culinary school?”

 

            Zeke knows that Bob isn’t just casually interested. Bob never went to culinary school, something he told Zeke he always regretted.

 

            “Well, I discovered I like eatin’ desserts more’n makin’ em’,” Zeke admits. “My cakes are alright, and my frostin’ tastes good, but I can’t decorate to save my life.”

 

            The conversation travels to homemade custards and puddings, butterscotch and caramel sauces, until Gene all but howls. “Stop, this is torture!”

 

            “Don’t worry Genie-Beanie, we have ice cream for dessert,” Linda says. “Blue Bunny,” she adds proudly. “It was on sale.” She pauses and glares pointedly at Bob. “And I have to be extra careful with our budget since your father decided to spend three months of grocery money on the menu.”

 

            Louise and Gene groan. Zeke frowns. He and Louise communicated frequently while he was gone, and Louise mentioned something about her parents having competing menus for the Christmas party, but she didn’t give any details.

 

            “Oh?" He exclaims, earning a groan from Gene and a kick under the table from Louise.  "Ow!"

 

            “Louise, don’t kick people under the table,” Linda snaps.

 

            “Louise, don’t kick people, period,” Bob adds.

 

            “Louise, don’t eat all the carrots,” Gene says, feeling a touch left out.

 

            Zeke laughs, and Louise glowers at him. “Now you’ve done it! No dessert for you.”

 

            “Lin, you’re the one who rented a nacho cheese fountain.”

 

            “Well, what else do you expect from someone with a _pedestrian palette_ , Bob?”

 

            “All I meant was that we can do better than little smokies and Chex party mix.”

 

            “Humph.” Linda stabs a chunk of meat, clearly wishing it was her husband’s head. “We’ll let the people decide who puts out the better spread.”

 

            “Speaking of which,” Bob says, turning back to Louise, “We have to finalize our prep timing tomorrow. We only have six more days to go.”

 

            “You got it, Dad.” She smiles at her father. Louise is as surprised as anyone to discover how much she enjoys pouring over recipes, helping craft the perfect, classy, totally not pedestrian menu. Plus, it needles her mother, always a bonus.

 

            “And Gene can go to the store with me.”

 

            “Uh, Lin, someone has to run the restaurant.”

 

            Zeke turns to Louise. “So, I’m gonna pick you up at one tomorrow, right, girl?”

 

            She shakes her head. “Nah, it’s just Critter and Mudflap’s. I can drive myself.”

 

            “Thank you, Zeke, that sounds like a good idea,” Linda says, cutting over her daughter’s protests. “I’ll need the car too, young lady.”

 

            “And it’s supposed to snow tomorrow,” Bob adds. “They aren’t predicting much, but I’ll feel better if an experienced driver is behind the wheel.”

 

            “Oh my God,” Louise moans. “How am I supposed to learn to drive in snow if you never let me try?”

 

            “You ain’t comin’ along, Gene? How ‘bout T-Bird?”

 

            “No thanks, not a football fan,” Gene says. “And Tina won’t be home until the day after tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, welcome to the first chapter of my new story! I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Louise and I are totally on the same page regarding potatoes in pot roast. Serve ‘em mashed, don’t cook them in the same pot! 
> 
> Can you tell I’ve been watching “King of the Hill” reruns? I tell you what…


	2. Bob's Menu

Hello,

            As you can see, this isn’t a chapter update. Personally, I’m not a foodie, I just like to eat. I would describe my taste as more advanced than Linda’s, but not as sophisticated as Bob’s, so I had to do a bit of research. I thought I’d share Bob’s menu with you, since I spent a fair amount of time on it, and hey, you might find it interesting or useful, especially with the winter holidays coming up.

Yours truly,

DangerFloof

 

 

** Bob’s Menu: **

https://www.foodandwine.com/slideshows/holiday-hors-doeuvres#2

https://www.saveur.com/best-holiday-party-appetizer-recipes#page-12

https://www.marthastewart.com/856473/20-years-living-best-christmas-appetizers?slide=3402322

https://www.epicurious.com/recipes-menus/elegant-one-bite-hors-d-oeuvres-gallery/list

  

  * Hogs in a Blanket (Spicy Andouille sausage wrapped in puff pastry, served with sweet mustard chutney) https://www.foodandwine.com/recipes/hogs-in-a-blanket
  * New England-Style Clam Dip with Brown Butter Crumbs served with crostini and radicchio leaves https://www.foodandwine.com/recipes/new-england-crab-dip-brown-butter-crumbs
  * Cranberry Crostini (Whipped ricotta spread topped with cranberries on crostini toast) https://www.saveur.com/cranberry-ricotta-crostini-recipe
  * Onion Tart with Goat Cheese (Puff pastry topped with caramelized onions, capers, anchovies, and goat cheese) https://www.saveur.com/article/Recipes/Onion-Tart-with-Goat-Cheese
  * Bacon-Wrapped Dates (Dates stuffed with pistachios and wrapped with bacon) https://www.marthastewart.com/343691/bacon-wrapped-dates
  * Caramelized Onion and Bacon Dip with Potato Chips and Crudite https://www.marthastewart.com/356658/caramelized-onion-and-bacon-dip-potato-chips-and-crudite
  * Savory Mushroom and Parmesan Palmiers (Mushroom paste in puff pastry, look like elephant ears) https://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/savory-mushroom-and-parmesan-palmiers
  * Eggs with Pickled Shallot and Parsley (Eggs boiled until their centers are custardy and then halved and topped with lemon-pickled shallots and fresh herbs.) https://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/eggs-with-pickled-shallot-and-parsley
  * Olive Oil Toasts with Pine Nuts and Raisins https://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/olive-oil-toasts-with-greens-pine-nuts-and-raisins-51262500
  * Warmed Spiced Olives https://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/warmed-spiced-olives




	3. TWO

            “Okay,” Bob says, tapping his pen against the notepad in his hand. “Today we finish both types of nuts. If we have time we’ll also toast up the crumbs for the crab dip, and the crostini.”

            Louise props her phone against the sugar jar and reads the recipe carefully as she measures out the cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, and cloves into a big zip-top bag.  “Are you sure it’s safe to make the nuts so early, Dad?”

            “We’re making extra for upstairs, and your mom is buying sugar wafer cookies as a distraction.”

            “Ah yes, classic misdirection.” Father and daughter exchange a smile. Gene’s sweet tooth is legendary; these are sensible precautions.

            “I’m surprised Mom is willing to buy the cookies, all things considered.”

            Bob pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. If he could go back in time, he would definitely manage his initial conversation with Linda about the menu better. It started innocently enough, as the most absurd of their arguments typically do.  They were getting ready for bed for the evening, Bob brushing his teeth, Linda already under the covers, making shopping lists for the party.

            “So, I’m thinking three different types of Chex party mix, kettle corn, some of those sugary nuts, cookies of course, and onion dip with pretzels and chips. Sparkling grape juice for the kids, grown-up grape juice for the rest of us. Oh, and lil’ smokies, obviously.” Linda paused and looked up at Bob, who poked his head out of the bathroom, toothpaste foam still in his mustache. He half-smiled at his wife.

            “Uh, Lin, we can do better than that. I was on Food and Wine’s website today and found a recipe for hogs in a blanket. It’s spicy Andoullie sausage wrapped in puff pastry with a side of sweet mustard chutney.”

            “Now Bobby, this is just a fun little get-together, not a cocktail party. I don’t want you to go overboard.”

            Bob wiped off the toothpaste. “Fine, but come on, Linda. Chex mix? Li’l smokies? Don’t you think that’s a bit…pedestrian?”

            “Pedestrian!”

            In retrospect, Bob knows that he should have immediately apologized, but at the time, he thought he could talk his way out of his wife’s frowning indignation. “Well yeah,” he chuckled nervously, “I can elevate the menu for you—“       

            “Well I’m sorry my tastes are _pedestrian_ , Bob,” Linda snapped, slamming the notebook down on the dresser. “It must be rough, having to bail me out and _elevate the menu_ for me.”

            Finally seeing that he was well in the danger zone, he desperately tried to backtrack, but instead tripped over a verbal gopher hole. “Lin, I didn’t mean it like that. I just want to do something more sophisticated than li’l smokies.”

            “ _Sophisticated!_ ”

            “C’mon, I have a trig test tomorrow!” Louise shouted from her bedroom.

            “Well I’m sorry, Louise, but your _sophisticated_ father thinks this town is too good for li’l smokies!”

            “Really, Lin?”

            “I tell you what, Bobby. We’ll have two spreads at this party, yours off in the corner on one table, and the good stuff on the other. Let the people decide.”

            “Fine by me!” 

            “This test is 25% of my grade!” Louise wailed.

            So now Bob stands in the restaurant kitchen early Sunday morning, scheduling his cooking. Looking at the menu, it’s clearly going to be tight. There’s just so much he can make in advance. They’re closing the restaurant early next Saturday so he has all day to prep for the party that evening, and Bob already knows he’s going to spend all of Saturday—and a good deal of Friday night—on his feet. 

            “Now remember, Louise, I’m going to need you here Friday and Saturday, maybe Thursday too.”

            “Any chance I can use the car? To run errands for you, of course.”

            “ _If_ the weather is fine, okay.”

            Louise grins at him. “Then it’s a deal, Dad.”

            Bob looks over at the menu, then back at his daughter. “You’re really into this, aren’t you, Louise?” After all, it was she who found the recipes for the onion tart with goat cheese as well as the mushroom and Parmesan palmiers.

            “Yeah,” she says thoughtfully. “I guess I am. This is fun.”

            “Even if it means spending time with your old man?”

            “Oh my God, Dad, don’t ruin it!” 

           "Sorry, sorry, forget I said anything."  Bob frowns at his list again.  "It's a shame Rudy and Jessica won't be here to taste your hard work.  I know they'd enjoy _our_ spread."

           Louise doesn't share her father's optimism; Jess would love the spiced olives--she adores any and all olives--but Louise has also seen her mow through an entire bag of Chex Mix by herself, too.  Rudy, afraid of offending either Belcher parent, would probably develop a wicked case of anxiety hiccups.  "They're slumming down in Phoenix, so who cares?"

          The bitterness in her voice takes even Louise by surprise.  "I mean, whatever," she pifts.  "I wouldn't want to spend a week with his grandparents, even if it means seeing a new part of the country and non-stop sunshine."

           "I'm sorry you'll miss them over Christmas."

          "Miss them?  Yeah, right.  And anyway, they're celebrating a late Hannukha, they're Jewish, remember?”

           “I knew Rudy is,” Bob says. “Didn’t Jessica visit her grandparents last Easter?”

          "Her paternal grandparents.  Her mom's Jewish, her dad's Christian.  She's been raised with both."

          "Oh.  Okay."

         Louise doesn't get it either.  Jess told her that her parents wanted to expose her to both faiths, so she could decide for herself when she got older.  As far as Louise can tell, this means that Jessica gets twice the holiday presents, and pronounces chutzpah with a hard _ch_. Not that she's one to judge, the Belchers aren't church people--Louise's strongest church memory is Aunt Gayle's shrimp dress.  Following Rudy's advice, she bought Jess a tote bag on Etsy for Hannukha, blue, with white lettering that said, “I’m not a full-blooded Jew, I’m Jew- _ish_ ”. She didn’t quite get the joke, but Rudy, a full-Jew, assured her that it was funny, and Jessica loved it so much she promiced to take it with her to Phoenix.

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

            Lunch rush proves to be intense but short.  Snow-flecked customers, buried in mounds of shopping bags, come in a wave around 11:30, crest around noon, and the tide begins to recede shortly before 1:00. With Linda out shopping for party supplies, Bob, Gene, and Louise are left to manage as best they can. Pleased by the tips—people tend to be more generous this close to Christmas—Gene and Louise serve, while Bob cooks. They’re an experienced team by now, and when Bob has a chance to look up from his work he smiles, proud of his children for needing so little direction.

            Zeke arrives at 1:00 and takes one look at the half-full restaurant. Louise is balancing four plates on her arm, Gene is cashing out a line of people at the register, Bob is sweating over the grill, and nobody’s had a refill. He shoos Gene away to serve tables while he, Zeke, mans the register.

            “Nah, Mr. B., I insist,” he cuts over Bob’s protests.

            “I appreciate it.” Bob frowns. “Lin should be back by now. I hope she’s okay.”

            “I’m sure she’s fine,” Zeke says. “It ain’t comin’ down too heavy, and it’s maybe an inch thick.”

            Finally, right around the time Zeke and Louise have resigned themselves to entirely missing the pre-game show, business slows down enough that Bob gestures at the door with his spatula.

            “Go while there’s an opening.”

            “You don’t have to tell me twice,” Louise says. She gestures to the mustard spatter on her t-shirt. “Just let me change.”

            Zeke unties his apron. “I’ll go warm up the truck. I’m about half a block south, girl.”

            “’Kay,” Louise calls as she runs out of the restaurant.

            Bob opens the refrigerator and pulls out a large, sealed bowl. “She made guacamole to take with you. The chips are in that bag,” he gestures off to the side.

            Zeke collects the food, a twist of envy in his chest at the sight of Bob’s proud smile. He wishes his own dad were half as proud of him as Bob is of Louise.

            “You two be careful out there,” Bob says. “That’s my baby you’re driving around. I’m sure Mudflap and Critter will put you up for the night if it’s too bad outside.”

            “You bet, Mr. B., I’ll take real good care of her.”

            Minutes later, Zeke is in his truck blasting the heater and trying to find the weather report on the radio. Snow is coming down more heavily now, and cars are beginning to slip. Zeke isn’t worried about himself; he’s a good driver, he has four-wheel drive, and it’s not a long trip. It’s the assholes out there who panic and t-bone other cars who concern him.

            Louise, buttoned up to the neck in a black coat, pink beanie firmly on her head, swings open the door and hops up to the passenger seat, clutching a backpack to her chest. She buckles her seat belt.

            “Ready for anything, ain’t ya, babygirl” he nods at the bag. Her grin is so mischievous it’s all he can do to stop himself from kissing her there in front of God and everyone.

            “It sure would be a shame if we’re snowed in at Critter and Mudflap’s for the night.”

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

            Tina, curled up in a corner of the sagging living room couch, is already halfway through a bottle of wine when Nick makes it back to the apartment. Leaning against the door, he unzips his snow-encrusted boots, hangs up his coat and hat, and flops down onto the couch next to her. He flings his Sephora name tag onto the coffee table and holds out the glass she had ready for him.

            “ _Girl,_ if you don’t pass some of that wine my way I’m gonna cry. If I see one more grown-ass woman loose her shit because we’re out of the Hourglass Ambient Lighting palette…”

            Tina pours him a generous glass, managing to not spill any, but misjudges and accidentally slams the bottle down on the table.

            “How much have you drank, Tina?”    

            “I’m still on the first bottle.”

            He shakes his head. “He ain’t worth missing. Who dumps someone a week before Christmas?”

            Tina sighs deeply. “It’s not Shawn, exactly. I mean, I liked him but...” She shrugs, the sentence dying in a soft groan.

            “You can just tell everyone the two of you are still together, then pretend that you broke up after New Years,” he suggests, pulling off his socks. “Nobody will know.

            “ _I’ll_ know, and I’m a crappy liar.”

            “Ain’t that the truth.”  He thinks for a minute. “Maybe you could get the flu and not be able to make it home?”

            Tina shakes her head, making herself slightly dizzy. “No, I want to see my family. I just wanted to see them with my whole life together.”

            “What the hell did you do with Tina Belcher?” He frowns at his roommate. “You’re secretary for Alpha Kappa Moo-Moo or whatever, on the Dean’s list for four consecutive semesters, and you have that book of yours almost done. So you don’t have a boyfriend, big whoop.”

            “It’s not that!” Damn, it’s so hard to talk about, even when sober. She takes a few breaths. “Okay, you might not believe it, but I was pretty awkward growing up.”

            “You? I don’t buy it.”

            “Really,” she says, missing the sarcasm. “Especially with boys. I just wanted to go back as the whole package. Really rub it in stupid Jimmy Pesto Jr.’s handsome face.”

            Nick laughs. “Jimmy Pesto Junior? Who’s that?”

            “My sort-of-kind-of-occasional high school boyfriend.”

            “Sounds like the kind of choad worth impressing.”

            Tina begins to giggle. “He kind of is. A choad, I mean.”

            “So why do you care what he thinks?”

            Her face falls. “I don’t know.”

           "Well, you have that cute dress.  Maybe you'll meet someone at your parent's party."

          That cheers Tina up a little.  Her mother insisted that she bring a nice dress for the party, "because you never know when Mr. Right will come along," so Tina, always optimistic when it comes to love, went shopping with Nick last week.  Tina's still not entirely sure the Spanx she bought to wear with it are enough, but Nick assured her that she looks like a dark-haired Christina Hendricks.  Tina, who enjoys nothing more than decompressing with a bottle of wine, a fudgy edible, and a _Mad Men_ marathon, is willing to take the compliment and run with it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Per Wikipedia, Alpha Kappa Mu is “an American collegiate honor society recognizing academic excellence in all areas of study. Juniors, seniors, and graduate students are permitted to join.” I stretched it a bit and let Tina, a sophomore, join. The point is, since AKM requires, among other things, a member to have a 3.3 GPA and be in the top 10% of their class to join, Tina is excelling academically. Hey, it was either that or go all “Revenge of the Nerds” and make her an Omega Mu. 
> 
> Linda's menu is the most "mom" menu I can think of, but I'm from the American Midwest. What's a "mom" party menu in your part of the world?


	4. THREE

           “Whatchoo wearin’ girl?”

 

            Louise tosses her coat onto Critter and Mudflap’s bed and turns to Zeke, innocently batting her lashes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

            He sighs, running his eyes over her tall figure. Tight black yoga pants topped with a midnight green sweater, loose-fitting, with sexy little cutouts at the shoulders. She bends over to pull up her white socks. Phillidelphia Eagles colors. _Ain’t no way that’s a coincidence._

 

            Zeke crosses his arms over his blue and white New York Giants jersey, purposely flexing. Because damn it, if, on top of supporting the wrong team, she’s going to sashay that amazing ass of her’s in tight pants, he’s going to tease her right back.

 

            Louise bites her lip and shoots him such a smoldering look that it’s a good thing Jackie and Jane choose that moment to barge in with their own coats.

 

            Jane catches the sexual tension immediately. “Ugh, straights.”

 

            “There’ll be time for that later,” Jackie laughs, giving him a one-armed hug.

 

            Jane and Louise grip each other’s hands, talking to and over each other excitedly, as if they haven’t seen each other for months, instead of just a few days. Jane is one of Louise’s few Fischoeder friends she can present to her family, because they’re close to the same age, and Jane, with her large blue eyes and bouncy blonde curls, has such a sweet, innocent demeanor.

 

            “Let’s go help Mudflap with the food,” Jane says, dragging Louise out of the bedroom as Jackie—a dedicated Eagles fan—begins debating stats with Zeke.

 

            “Oh my God, she _would not stop_ all the way here,” Jane sighed. “It was all Alshon Jeffery this and coach what’s-his-face that.”

 

            Louise shrugs. “I don’t actually care who wins, so long as I get some violence.”

 

            “Then why are you wearing the other team’s colors?”

 

            “To needle Zeke, duh.”

 

            “Well, you can afford to do that. You two don’t live together.”

 

            Louise rolls her eyes. Jackie and Jane got an apartment together two months ago, and Jane is still reveling in the novelty of it. Louise suddenly wonders what it would be like to share an apartment with Zeke. Taking turns in the kitchen (he’s one of the few men she’d trust in her kitchen): arm-wrestling for the remote: pissing off the neighbors with regular rounds of bed-rocking sex.

 

            “Louise?”

 

            She startles, realizing that she’d spaced out. Red-faced, Louise says, “Yeah, we’d have to be on the same team if we lived together.”

 

            Louise blinks, then, having realized what she just said, turns firey with embarrassment. “Oh my God,” she breathes, pinching the bridge of her nose.

 

            “Yeah, playing for the same team sure helps _us_ ,” Jane chokes out between giggles.

 

            Mudflap pokes her head out from the tiny kitchen. Her frizzy brown hair is pulled back in a banana clip. “Now you two gigglepusses git on here and help yourselves some chili before the men vacuum it all up.”

 

            Louise, who’s been to their house twice a week since school started, ostensibly to tutor Sidecar, is quite comfortable in their kitchen. Grabbing a bowl, plate, and utensils, she helps herself to chili and guac. She’s proud of the guacamole; it’s not a difficult dish to make, of course, but thanks to her remembering to squeeze lime juice on top and smush down cling film, it’s still a vivid, inviting green.

 

            Zeke, Critter, and Jackie completely dominate the tiny couch. Someone—likely Mudflap—forsaw that, and set up a small table with folding chairs and a pack of fresh cards off to the side. Louise sets down her plate next to Sidecar.

 

            He points to the gap in his mouth. “I lost one of my front teeth yesterday!”

 

            “I see— _oof_!” He tackles her in a hug, his forehead impacting her underboobs. She pats him awkwardly and extricates herself quickly. He’s only eight, and his crush would actually be kind of cute if he had a chill button, or, at the very least, didn’t try to “accidentally” motorboat her every time he hugged her.

 

            Mudflap, Jane, Louise, and Sidecar begin a cutthroat game of poker. No gambling, at Mudflap’s insistence, ostensibly because her son is too young for that, but Louise thinks it’s really because the kid would wipe everyone out. For someone who can barely add two plus two, the kid is amazing at cards.

 

            An hour passes, loudly and cheerfully on both sides of the room. Louise is in her element, and occasionally stops to glance around, scarcely able to register her good fortune. Here she is, having a great time with some of her favorite people in the world; with the exception of Sidecar, she can talk to any one of them about any facet of her life, a rare luxury given the illegality of most of her choices. Thanks to the fig leaf of tutoring Sidecar, she’s spent a lot of time with the family. Also, thanks to Sidecar’s short attention span, at least half that time is typically spent exchanging Mr. Fishoder’s cut for more product, discussing motorcycles with Mudflap over Hamburger Helper, and practicing hand-to-hand fighting with Critter or Ice Pick.

 

           Critter jumps up from the couch, punching the air. “GO! GO-GO-GO-GOOOOOOO!”

 

            Zeke buries his face in his hands, groaning. Critter and Jackie high-five over his head. “The Eagle has landed!”

 

            Zeke turns wounded puppy eyes to Louise. “I could really use your support, babygirl. And another beer.”

 

            “Oh my God, am I a waitress here too? Would you like fries with that? Anyone else need a drink?”

 

            Sidecar raises his hand. “I’d like more guac and chips.”

 

            Mudflap pokes his arm. “Louise ain’t yer maid. Get it yourself.”

 

             Louise sighs dramatically and makes a production of going to the fridge. She really doesn’t mind very much, but of course she has to give him shit; it’s just who she is. Actually, she welcomes the chance to stretch her legs. And, well, Zeke always does so many nice little things for her—which he totally should, because, duh, she’s _Louise Belcher_ —it occurred to her during his absence that maybe she could be a bit more accommodating. Not _nicer_ , ew, but maybe do a few little things for him, too. Just so she’s not in his debt.

 

            Louise retrieves a longneck and stares out the window. She whistles; it’s practically a whiteout, there’s no way she’s making it home tonight. _Oh darn it all_ , she smiles to herself, squeezing her thighs together.

 

            “Hey, Louise!” Sidecar chirps behind her.

 

            “Hey, Sidecar. Need help getting a bowl?”

 

            “Nah, I got it.” Sidecar hops up onto the counter so he can reach the cabinet. “I start long division when we go back to school. Could you start me on some of it today?”

 

            She smirks; his attempts to get her all to himself are transparent, not to mention desperate, if he’s willing to do math to be alone with her. “We need to get back to the game. Do you know where the bottle opener is?” She holds up the beer. “Zeke sent me on a mission, and this isn’t a twist-off.”

 

            Just as she predicted, Sidecar brightens, eager to help; Louise is his crush, but Zeke is his idol. Unfortunately for Louise, his help isn’t what she expected.   “Sure! But, ain’t you gonna open it with yer boobs? That’s what Ma does.” He stares at her chest, clearly hoping to get a good view of the show.

 

            “Uh, no. That’s your mom’s special trick.”

 

            “Maybe she could open it for him.”

           

            Louise frowns. “No, I think a bottle opener is fine.”

 

            The boy shrugs and digs one out of the junk drawer. Louise doesn’t know why, but the idea of Zeke putting his mouth on a bottle that has been near Mudflap’s breasts arouses uncomfortable, almost angry feelings in her that she doesn’t want to analyze. She locks them in a trunk and shoves the trunk into the furthest corner of her mind, hoping they’ll die of asphyxiation.

           

            Sidecar follows her into the living room, chatting all the way. Louise leans over the back of the couch and dangles the beer in front of Zeke’s face. They’ve gone to commercial, so it isn’t as annoying as she’d hoped.

 

            He leans his head back and grins at her. “Thanks, babygirl.”

 

            “What’s the score?”

 

            “Five to seven, but it ain’t even half-time.”

 

            Louise runs her hand through his hair, smiling sweetly. “Don’t worry, your team has time to make lots of sports.”

 

            Critter laughs, and Zeke squeezes his eyes shut, groaning. He pulls her arm, bringing her down closer to him.  “Good thing you got a great ass, babygirl,” he whispers.

 

            She flicks his forehead hard with a loud _thock_. Cackling, she joins Jane, Mudflap, and Sidecar in a no-holds-barred game of Go-Fish.

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

            By four o’clock there’s almost six inches of snow on the ground, the streets are deserted, and it’s nearly sunset, so Bob decides to close early. They haven’t had a customer in over an hour, anyway.

 

            He checks his text messages and raises an eyebrow at Gene. “Your mom says she’s making decorations for the party and doesn’t need any help.” Bob frowns, quoting the text, “ _No help at all, thank you very much_. I guess maybe you should go upstairs and…not help?”

 

            The men exchange a look: does she want help or not? “Uh, sure,” Gene says, slowly sweeping a pile of debris into the dustpan.

 

            “Mmm…Dad?”

 

            “Yes, Gene?”

 

            Gene is playing with the broomstick, scraping at the paint with his thumbnail. “I have kind of a weird question.”

 

            His dad tears off a long sheet of cling film and covers the prep pans. “Sure, what is it?”

            “Did you ever ask a guy out?”

 

            Bob looks up at his son. Gene is hanging up the broom and dustpan, back to his father, clearly unable to look Bob in the eye.

 

            “Didn’t you ever ask Lenny out?”

 

            “We just sort of fell in together. I mean, hanging out turned into dating. I don’t know how to, you know, _date_ as an adult.”

 

            Bob considers for a moment. The fact that he’s bi is an open secret in the family, but Gene is the only one of his three children he’s really talked to about it. The only thing more awkward than being exposed to his children’s budding sexuality (thanks, Tina), is talking about his own preferences. Besides, he’s sure his daughters are quite straight, though he did wonder about Louise for a while.

 

            “Well, asking out a guy isn’t any different than asking out a girl. Just plan something you think you’ll both like. Oh, and whoever asks, pays, of course. Um…who’s the lucky guy?”

 

            “Just someone I met at the theater,” Gene says casually—too casually, so Bob knows this is pretty important to him.

 

            “Do you want to tell me about him?”

 

            “I don’t know if there’s anything to tell, yet.”

 

            Bob nods. He thinks for a minute. “Don’t let what happened with Lenny throw you off. He was an asshat.”

 

            “Dad, he couldn’t help it. I mean—“

           

            “No Gene, don’t excuse cheating.”

 

            Gene rubbed his forehead. He’s been through this so many times. “I’m not, it’s just, there’s just so much temptation a guy like him can resist.”

 

            “Don’t sell yourself short, Gene. He threw away a good thing.” Bob was secretly relieved when Lenny went off to college and he and Gene broke up for good. Two years of watching his son do some on-again-off-again relationship with a guy who couldn’t be faithful and played headgames about tore out his heart. It was even worse than watching Tina and Jimmy Pesto Junior. Bob takes comfort in the fact that Louise has shown little interest in boys (or girls) so far, and that she’s too sensible to get involved in a dramatic relationship. Besides, his little warrior princes would disembowel the fool who even thought about disrespecting _her_.

            “Well, anyway, I wish it weren’t winter. I’m not sure what to suggest besides a movie.”

 

            “How about going to see the Christmas lights? It’s cheap, sort of romantic, but not too much for a first date.”

 

            Gene grins. Wonder Warf becomes a winter wonderland Thursday through Sunday nights, complete with Santa and vendors selling hot chocolate and candy canes to visitors. “That’s a great idea!”

 

            Bob smiles proudly. “Go on upstairs and help your mom. I’ll finish up down here.”

 

            Gene gives his father a hug. “Thanks, Dad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to research the football thing. Go team! Make a sport!


	5. FOUR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut and voyeurism ahead.

       Sidecar hates getting up in the winter to use the bathroom—the tile is practically ice—but after the whooping his dad gave him after catching him peeing in a cup in the corner of his room, Sidecar’s willing to make the sacrifice. He shuffles down the hall to the bathroom, frowning. He probably wouldn’t have woken up if his parents weren’t jumping on their bed. He wishes they didn’t do it so often, or, at least, they wouldn’t shout so much when they jump around. Why _they_ can jump on the bed, but get mad when he does it, is beyond him; maybe he just needs a jumping buddy?

 

            He flushes and washes his hands, and is yawning as he makes his way back to bed when he hears bedsprings rhythmically creaking in the spare room. Louise and Zeke are jumping on the bed too? Is this something grown-ups always do? Sidecar campaigned heavily for Louise to share his room, instead of the extra room with Zeke; if he’d won, he and Louise could’ve jumped together.

 

            The door is cracked open—none of the doors in the house stay shut, unless you know how to wiggle the knob just right—and Sidecar can’t resist peeking inside. The room is bright with the eerie light from the moon and streetlights reflected off the snow shining through the window. Zeke is lying on his back and Louise straddles his lap, long dark hair cascading down her back. Sidecar watches her breasts shake to the rhythm of her rocking and bouncing, almost, he thinks, like she’s riding a coin-operated horse at Family Funtime. Zeke’s hands are on her hips and he seems to be guiding her, helping her along, his voice rough and low, the words indistinct but the tone sounds like he’s giving her orders. Louise must do something wrong, because Zeke smacks her butt. She yelps, the sound transforming to throaty laughter.

 

            Sidecar’s eyes widen, and his wiener feels funny, almost, but not quite, like he has to pee again. He’s the oldest in his class, and has the most unsupervised Internet time, so he knows exactly what’s going on. _They’re doin’ it! They’re makin’ sex!_

 

            “Missed ya so _fuckin’_ much, Louise—“

           

            Louise grinds down. “Prove it.”

 

             Zeke sits up tackles her. A startled squeal from Louise: delighted gasps and moans, baritone grunts and growls: legs and arms everywhere. Now Louise is on her back, Zeke kneeling between her high, spread legs.  Sidecar’s wiener almost hurts.  He grips it, finding that he likes the pressure. Sidecar has never envied anyone as much as he envies Zeke right now.

 

            Zeke thrusts hard, his head turns just a tiny bit to the right, and though Sidecar can’t see his face clearly, he knows Zeke sees him. The man makes quick, jerking motions with his head. The message is clear: _Go away_.

 

            Sidecar runs to his own room. He lies awake for a long time, the bounce of abused bedsprings and Louise’s wanton moans echo in his ears, the vision of her riding and being ridden sear deep into his psyche.

 

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

           

           

            It’s almost 11:00, but Zeke refuses to fall asleep. Louise got her wish; Jane and Jackie went home hours ago, as their apartment is only two buildings down, but it’s truly too bad outside for Zeke and Louise to leave. There’s nearly a foot of snow outside, and Linda and Mudflap both demanded that they stay overnight. Zeke isn’t complaining. After Sidecar went to bed the adults broke open the pan of pot brownies that Jackie brought with her and played a game of Settlers of Catan, which nobody won, though everyone earned points for building the longest road.  Zeke amused himself by feeding bits of brownie to Louise.  She protested, of course, but never broke eye contact as he slid his thumb between her full lips, and licked the chocolate off his fingers.  Jackie made vomiting motions, and distracted herself from what she dubbed the “hetro horror” by feeling up her own girlfriend.

 

            “Off to bed you two,” Critter eventually ordered. He shuttered as Louise leaned over and nipped Zeke’s earlobe in defiance. “Damn, it’s like watchin’ my own kids make out.”

 

            Sure, like most of Mr. Fischoeder’s rentals, the walls are practically paper, so, on top of hearing a very drunk Critter and Mudflap go to town, the guest room is freezing. Zeke’s sure if he concentrated hard enough he could see the blinds undulate with the wind roaring outside. But Mudflap and Critter have lived here for years and have a huge collection of blankets, so the bed is warm as toast, and Louise is curled up with him. On their sides facing each other, their legs entangled, Louise dozed off almost literally mid-sentence, the blankets tucked up to her ear.

 

            He can’t stop smiling, not even when he thinks about the conversation he’s going to have to have with innocent little Sidecar in the morning. He hopes the kid doesn’t think he, Zeke, was attacking her. Hell, he hopes he didn’t hurt Louise; Zeke meant to be gentle with her, but damn near lost it at first thrust. It felt so indescribably _good,_ so amazingly _right_ to be inside of her again, and then she demanded _more_ , _deeper_ , _harder_ , _faster_ , until finally, words failing her, she was reduced to the primal sounds than any experienced man could interpret.

 

            But ladies are delicate, even wild things like Louise. He reaches out to stroke her cold cheek. Louise frowns slightly and nestles deeply into the blankets, but doesn’t wake up. Poor girl must be exhausted. He knows she was up early, and he sure put her through her paces.

 

            Part of him wants to indulge in the luxury of falling asleep with a woman, a rarity for a man more accustomed to one-night stands than anything else, but another part of him can’t bear the thought of wasting the rare gift of private time with Louise just sleeping. _Hell, even cuddlin’ is somethin’_. Now it’s Zeke’s turn to frown. _Crap, I’m doin’ it again._

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

           

            Zeke knew he was in deep shit a week after he made it back to school. He and Louise agreed to be very, very clean in writing; they weren’t as discreet as they ought to have been that summer, and Linda caught onto something, a little crush on Louise’s part, but thankfully not the full story. Besides, it’s harder to deny things in writing than things people see with their own eyes. So any message was precious, even that silly Gordon Ramsey meme he’d seen a dozen times already. He could envision her curled up in one of the restaurant booths on her break, balancing her phone on her knees, picking the perfect picture to send to him.

 

            Exhausted after a long day of deboning over thirty pounds of fish, his eyes were red and at half-mast. It was his roommate’s turn to clean the bong, but he knew Raul would put it off for days. Zeke, who is completely disgusted by dirty bong water, tried to summon enough give-a-damn to peel his butt off the couch and wash it himself. His phone vibrated with Louise’s message. Laughing, he’d turned to Raul to share the meme, when he was blindsided with…not anger, he was too stoned for that…but _disappointment_ that Bob and Linda had their daughters in the wrong order.

             If Louise were the eldest, they’d be in culinary school together; he was sure he could talk her into going with him, especially if they could splint rent three ways with Raul, though of course he'd prefer a little place with just the two of them. They'd do everything together, her big, long-fingered hand in his.  Everywhere they'd go--work, classes, parties--eyes would turn to admire his bright, shining girl, then flicker over to him, wondering what he'd done to earn such a jewel, and he'd be so proud!  She’d text him old memes from across the room, not the other side of the state. At night, he’d drag her off to his— _their_ —room, and make the bed shake and the walls rattle with their passion.  Of course, they'd fight too; he could be grumpy sometimes, and Louise is as much thunderstorms as she is sunshine.  It's part of her charm.  But Critter gave him great advice about women a long time ago, and it hasn't failed him, not even with Louise.

            "Zeke, what ya gotta do is find yerself a gal you like and respect.  Treat 'er nice outside the bedroom, and give 'er lots of good dick, beer, and weed."

            Zeke knows that plenty of gals, especially Tina, would throw a shit-fit at that one, and he thinks that's actually short sighted of them.  He considers himself as much a feminist as any guy, but who has the time to learn all the lingo and shit, especially when it changes every other week?  No, Critter's assessment, though perhaps not couched in polite language, is correct.  Pick a woman you like and respect: treat her like a person, not a lube-filled sock: please her body as well as her mind.  What else could a gal want?

            The vision of his life with Louise was so clear and powerful that for one, blinding moment he actually _resented_ Mr. and Mrs. B, as if they’d changed the timeline, forcing him to live in an alternate universe in which he didn’t belong. And that was how Zeke knew that Louise had somehow buried herself dangerously far under his skin.

 

            The best way to shake off one woman, in Zeke’s experience, was to take another one, sort of short-circuit the part of his brain that was too focused. A sexual reboot, as it were. So, his next evening off work, he went to a bar and picked up the exact opposite of Louise, some cougar-type divorcee clearly looking to get some of her own back. Short, blonde, slightly chubby with great tits, probably closer to thirty-five than the thirty she claimed, he never quite caught her name but went back to her place. The sex was fine, as far as he was concerned, explosive to her, if her howls were any indication.  

 

               It didn’t work. The blonde was forgettable, but Louise remained like a bad rash, and he could not stop scratching. He masturbated himself to sleep to the memory of her, awoke hard and aching with the thought of her. Zeke doesn’t really like one-night stands—it’s always a gamble what you’re going to get. Granted, he’s also of the opinion that sex is like pizza; even when it’s bad, it’s still pretty damn good, but after a couple of repeat attempts with different women, it became obvious to him that what he really needed was a steady lay, a friend with benefits. After all, if one-nighters weren’t enough to get Louise out of his brain before he slept with her, they sure as hell weren’t going to work now that he knows what he’s missing.

 

            Zeke didn’t have to look far. He spent Thanksgiving weekend with Marissa, a gorgeous fellow student. She bought pretty regularly from him, so they had each other’s numbers already, and it wasn’t hard to take their conversations from business to pleasure. Marissa had long dark hair and an amazing rack. They spent the entire time high on a cocktail of sex, weed, beer, and a couple hits of acid he bought off himself. Actually, Zeke might have been willing to keep her around, if she hadn’t turned out to be so damn clingy.

 

            “Looks to me like she’s just showing initiative,” Raul argued.

 

            Zeke shook his head; he knew all the tricks, the way girls tried to side-step into a relationship. She made a point of teaming up with him in class. Suggested they get lunch together. Texted him for stupid shit, instead of to buy from him. He didn’t want to be an asshole, but Zeke was as serious as cancer when he told her he was just looking for fun, and he wasn’t going to be guilted into a relationship.

 

            Having failed in that arena, he fell back to masturbation, supplemented with weekly visits to one of the local strip clubs. He felt like a bit of a fool buying lap dances; Critter bought him his first, as a 16th birthday gift, and Zeke had paid for them regularly at some of Mr. Fischoeder’s seedier clubs when he was a teen with a good fake ID and couldn’t get laid regularly. At almost 22, lap dances felt regressive, but they took the edge off. Lana, his favorite, was a pretty Latina with amazing tits, and an ass nearly as great as Louise’s. She was nice—for real nice, not just customer-service nice. Zeke, who’s spent a lot of time in clubs and working customer service himself, prides himself on knowing the difference. She even let him fondle her a little. Definitely against club rules, and it cost him extra, but it was worth it.

 

            Somehow, he managed to not hop in his truck and drive the two hours back to Seymore Bay to see Louise, or ask Mudflap to bring her up north when the two of them met at the halfway point to trade product and money. It wouldn’t be fair to Louise, he reminded himself over and over again. She needed the freedom to enjoy being a teen, to enjoy high school, without some creepy older guy stalking her and monopolizing her time.

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

            Snuggled together in bed, Zeke is overwhelmed with the need to show Louise what he can’t tell her, what he can barely even acknowledge to himself. He rolls her onto her back, carefully hovers over her, balancing his weight on his elbow so she isn’t crushed. He strokes Louise’s hair, her cheeks, gently kisses her soft lips until she’s kissing him back, her sleep-heavy arms wrapped around him.

 

            “Hey,” she murmurs, bumping the tip of her nose gently against his. “Izzit mornin’?”

 

            “Not yet, darlin’.” He runs his hand over her sleep shirt, pausing to pluck her nipples. She gasps, a soft, sexy little sound that makes him even more determined. His hand dips lower, teasing the elastic band on her pajama bottoms.

 

            “More?” she whispers.

 

            He nuzzles her neck, his fingers slipping under her clothes, stroking her skin with a light touch that makes her shiver and draw her nails down his back. “I just want to…lemme taste you, sweetheart. I’ll be gentle, you know I can make you feel good. I don’t need nuthin, it’s all for you, baby. Just lie on back, just like that, and lemme take care of you.”

 

            Zeke can hear the pleading in his voice and damn, he can’t believe he’s actually begging a girl to let him eat her out. That’s a first. But it's important, he needs it. He needs to feel Louise quake on his lips until finally she grabs him by the hair and grinds against him, feeds him the most secret, intimate part of herself until she comes.

 

            “If you insist,” she chuckles.

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

            Zeke awakes to weak, pre-dawn sunlight poking through the blinds and the sound of Sidecar cursing in his room. Zeke fell asleep on his back with Louise mostly on top of him, her black hair absolutely everywhere. They’re both wearing their shirts, but he can feel that neither of them is wearing bottoms. Not surprising; after coming on his tongue with a sweet little cry that went straight to his dick, Louise demanded _more_ , so Zeke, sleepy but willing, rolled them onto their sides and made the gentlest love he could to her. Much as he’d like to stay in bed with Louise, he really needs to pee, and, since he can hear Mudflap and Critter snoring in the next room, Zeke suspects this is his best chance to have a private word with Sidecar. Louise makes irritated, disgruntled noises as he rolls her off of him, but doesn’t awaken. He tucks the covers around her and finds his sweatpants, figuring he’ll locate his underwear later.

 

            After reliving himself and washing his hands and face, he taps on Sidecar’s bedroom door. “Hey, you got a minute?”

 

            Pause. “Uh, sure.”

 

            Zeke opens the door.   The little boy’s room is quite small, sparsely furnished, the walls plastered with posters that Sidecar must have hung himself, because they’re all at a kid’s eye level. Sidecar is sitting on the floor, a large sweatshirt thrown over his pajamas, and the remains of a bowl of cereal at his side. In front of him is a jumble of Lincoln Logs and mini cars.

 

            “I’m tryin’ to build a garage but it ain’t workin.”

 

            “Want some help?”

 

            “Sure.”

 

            The two build a long, log cabin garage, leaving off the roof for a while so it’s easier to drive the cars inside. The air is tense between them at first, but soon they’re laughing, comparing cars and making motor noises as they roll the toys around.

 

            “Sidecar?”

 

            “Yeah?”

 

            “I thought ya might be kinda confused about what ya saw last night.”

 

            Sidecar doesn’t look up from the little Mustang in his hand. “I know what you two were doing,” he scoffs. “I know all about it. You were makin’ sex!”

 

            Zeke blinks. “Yeah.” Did he, Zeke, know what sex is when he was eight? He can’t remember, but at least he doesn’t have to assure Sidecar that he wasn’t harming Louise or something. He’s also glad they weren’t doing anything kinky he’d have to explain; Zeke is willing to experiment, but he’s a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy at heart when it comes to sex, and Louise doesn’t seem to mind.

 

            “When’s Louise gonna have the baby?”

 

            Zeke’s voice ratchets up an octave. “Baby?”

 

            “Well, that’s how ya make babies, ain’t it?”

 

            Zeke rubs his forehead, feeling the conversation slip away from him. “Sure, yeah, but you can take, uh, precautions, so you can do it without making babies. It’s also a way that people show…affection for each other. An’ it’s private,” he adds. “I know ya didn’t mean ta look, but people like to do that in private, especially ladies.”

 

            “Uh-uh, not all ladies,” Sidecar argues. “I seen ‘em on the Internet.”

 

            “They’re actresses,” Zeke says bluntly, cutting as quickly as he can to the issue. “They want to be seen. Ladies you’ll meet in real life don’t. Louise doesn’t. She’d be really upset if she knew.”

 

            “Oh.”

 

            “Yeah, she wouldn’t like it at all. She’d be really embarrassed and mad if anyone found out.”

 

            “I didn’t see nuttin’,” Sidecar says. He mimes zipping his lips shut and turning a key. Smiling, Zeke returns the gesture.

 

            The two play with the cars for a few more minutes. They take turns driving their vehicles off the bed. Zeke senses the thoughts processing in Sidecar’s mind, the questions forming, and braces himself.

 

            “Hey Zeke?”

 

            “Yeah?”

 

            Sidecar frowns at him thoughtfully. “You like-like Louise, doncha?”

 

            Glad the kid isn’t asking technical questions, he grins. “Yeah, I do.”

 

            Sidecar’s face falls, and Zeke feels for the kid. The boy never made a secret of his crush, and Zeke knows from experience what it’s like to hero-worship the guy a crush prefers. Though he’s embarrassed to admit it now, Zeke spent most nights of his sophomore year of high school pleasuring himself to the memory of Mudflap jell-o wrestling at Mr. Fischoeder’s club.

 

            “Zeke?”

 

            “Yeah?”

 

            Sidecar scrunches his face, clearly trying to gather his courage. “Louise like-likes you too, doesn’t she?”

 

            A small, dreamy smile pulls at the corners of his mouth as he remembers falling asleep with Louise the night before. Deep in the night, satiated and exhausted, he was drifting off when Louise, snuggled in his arms, called his name.

 

            “Mmm?”  He was too tired to even open his eyes.

 

            She took a deep breath. Her voice was so soft, so tense, he could barely understand her as she said, “I, you know I missed, I mean— _Imissedyoutoo_.”

 

            Her words hung in the air, as fragile and beautiful as soap bubbles. He didn’t dare say anything, for fear they’d burst. Instead, he hugged her tighter and kissed the top of her head.

 

            Zeke turns to Sidecar. His face feels hot. “I reckon she does.”

 

            The boy pouts. “Oh.”

 

            Zeke nudges his shoulder. “She likes you, just not like that. There’s plenty of girls yer age you can like-like, but hold off on the sex for a while.”

 

            “Why? I know yer wiener has to get stiff, and mine does.”

 

            _Well first kid, you just called it a “wiener”…_ Is this karma? Is this the universe’s way of paying him back for all the weird questions and awkward situations he caused for Critter over the years? Critter became his Guardian Associate when Zeke was fifteen, and Zeke is convinced that he’d have a prison record to rival that of his cousins had he not fallen into Critter’s—and thus, Mr. Fischoeder’s—orbit. For a long time, Critter was more of a father figure to Zeke than his actual Dad.

 

            As a sophomore, he was barely attending school, and when he did, he was so angry and so high it didn’t do him any good anyway. Nobody really noticed; his mother was in rehab again in Alabama, Grandma June was senile and didn’t recognize him anymore, his father was in the middle of divorcing his third wife. But Zeke made friends with other stoners, some of whom knew the One-Eyed Snakes, and they found a use for his short temper and heavy fists. Eventually he found his way to Mr. Fishoeder, who dislikes dropouts from both a business and appearance perspective. So Zeke, part dealer, part enforcer, graduated high school with both his father and Critter in the audience cheering him across the stage.

 

            Sidecar frowns.  “Why can’t I do sex yet, Zeke?”

 

            “Well, no girls yer age are ready fer sex yet, and you need to be a little older too.”

 

            Sidecar chews his lip, processing this information. Damn, this is awkward, but Zeke decides it’s good practice for when he has kids. The boy looks up at him.

 

            “Louise likes me, you said?”

 

            “Yeah…” Zeke agrees, smelling a trap.

 

            “Do you think she’d let me pee in her pussy too?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can I say? Not all drama queens are female. 
> 
> Zeke kind of got away from me in my last story, but I’m glad he did, because it made me really think about his motivations, beyond the obvious.


	6. FIVE

            It must be near lunchtime. Gene knows this because his stomach is the best clock he’s ever seen, and always begins rumbling around 11:30. He’s currently helping to inventory the costume shop, a surprisingly interesting task with Lydia and her long-time assistant and new wife, Christy. Practically every yard of cloth has a story attached to it, from Conrad Birdie's gold lamé suit that they practically held together with tape and prayers, to the endless supply of 1940's ties worn in _Guys and Dolls_ and _Arsenic and Old Lace_.  Plus, they sing well, and in harmony. The three of them are singing along with a recording of “Matchmaker” from _t_ he 2015 Broadway revival of _Fiddler on the Roof_ , when Gene’s phone vibrates.

 

 **Louise:** HALP!

 

 **Louise:** I’m outside the Center.

 

 **Louise:** I brought Popeye’s Chicken.

 

 **Louise:** It’s good!

 

            Gene turns to Lydia, who is digging through spools of thread. “Hey, is it okay if I knock off early for lunch? My sister’s brought food.”

 

            “In this weather?” About half the staff called out, and the rest were late getting in that morning. The streets are slick but passable at this point, as Seymore Bay, the quintessential East Coast town, is quite prepared for snow. “She must be one hell of a sister.”

 

            _Or she needs one hell of a favor_ , Gene thinks, on his way down to the vestibule.

 

            Louise, her hair blown out to epic proportions thanks to the weather, stands next to the giant cutout of Miss Case. Gene misses the embarrassed look in his sister’s eyes, his own gaze fixated on the big white plastic bag she holds in one hand and drink carrier in the other.

 

            “Come on, I’ll give you a tour. After lunch.”

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

            Gene finishes his slice of pecan pie, licking the fork in appreciation. Louise has long since polished off her baked chicken tenders and green beans, predictably turning her nose up at the fried food as too carb heavy, though he did spot her more than once gaze longingly at his fries. She bought him lunch _and_ an afternoon snack, and didn’t forget the details. Extra biscuits and butter. Dessert. Three different sauces. He doesn’t know what Louise wants, but it must be pretty big.

 

            “So, sis,” he says, scrubbing his mouth with a napkin.

 

            “Gene, I have a problem.”

 

            “Yeah…?”

 

            Louise pulls back the collar of her coat, angling her neck to reveal a giant blue-purple hickey.

 

            “Holy crap!”

 

            “There’s more,” she sighs. All in all, Zeke left three love bites on her that could be easily seen by anyone; the giant one on the left side of her neck, a smaller, purple bruise under her right ear, and a little red mark towards her nape.

 

            “I can’t wear turtlenecks all the time, I just have one mock.”

 

            “Damn, is Zeke part vampire or something?” Gene can’t help but laugh. It’s either that or puke at the thought of Zeke and his sister together, and that sounds like a waste of good chicken.

 

            “This isn’t funny, Gene! How the hell am I going to hide these things from Mom and Dad? The only guys there were Critter, Zeke, and Sidecar. They’ll figure it out!”

 

            “You could tell them you made out with Jane.”

            “They’ve seen her and Jackie together, they’ll never believe it.”

 

            Gene was joking, but Louise responds so seriously that it’s obvious that she considered and dismissed that plan already.

 

            “Well, I can give you a cold compress, which will help, but I can’t go back in time and pull him off you. Trust me, I’ve done the calculations, and the tear in the space-time continuum would _not_ be worth it.”

 

            Louise sighs and rubs the bridge of her nose. “I was thinking that since I need to cover them while they heal with…oh, I don’t know, _heavy-duty makeup_ …and you work in a theatre where they use _heavy-duty makeup_ …”

 

            “ _Ohhh_. Got ya.”

 

            “Yeah, took you long enough. So, which way’s the makeup department?”

 

            Gene bags up their trash. “It’s not that simple. I mean, we don’t typically take people in off the street to cover evidence of the disgusting things they do.” _With guys they shouldn’t be with_ , he adds silently.

 

            Louise shakes her finger at him. “Ah-ah-ah, you ate the meal, you accepted my offering, the pact can’t be broken!”

 

            “Well, you _did_ remember to get the Cajun Sparkle, so fine,” he sighs. I—I think I know someone who can help.”

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

            Michael opens his dressing room door. “Gene, hello.”

 

            “Miss—uh, Michael, hi. Are you—are you busy? We can come back--”

           

            “Never too busy for you, Gene.”

 

            The two men stand there, beet red and grinning at each other like fools, until Louise pointedly and loudly clears her throat.

 

            “Oh yeah! This is my sister, Louise. We were wondering if you could help her with a little problem.”

 

            Michael gestures them in and closes the door behind him. Gene spots the afghan, half-completed, on the couch.

 

            “Are you the duderuses sister, Louise?”

 

            “Duder—? No, that’s our older sister, Tina. I’m the badass one, she’s the awkward one.” Louise raises an eyebrow at Gene, who doesn’t meet her eyes. He’s too busy watching Michael clear space on his couch. She reads the situation immediately.

 

            “Well, badass sister, what can I do for you?”

 

            “Louise was attacked by a redneck lamprey and needs to hide the evidence.”

 

            “Gene!”

 

            “It’s the truth. The horrible, disgusting truth.”

 

            Michael hands her a large plastic hair clip. “Now, pin up that fabulous hair of yours, sit on down, and show me the damage.

 

            Louise tosses her coat to Gene, who doesn’t even try to catch it, clips up her frizzy clumps of long hair, and sits down at Michael’s dressing table.

 

            “Oh, _hun-ny_ , this isn’t so bad. I’ve covered worse with Dollar Store makeup.”

 

            Gene watches with fascination as Michael begins pulling cosmetics out of various drawers and train cases. Soon foundations, concealers, color correctors, powders, setting sprays, and blending sponges are lined up like soldiers preparing for battle.

           

            “Now, lucky for you I got some samples that are too dark for me. I tried to use them as contour but—“

 

            “They’re too warm,” Gene finishes.

 

            “Yeah,” Michael says, eyebrows raised, clearly impressed. He and Gene exchange another longing gaze, and this time it’s Louise’s turn to almost vomit thinking about her sibling’s sex life.

 

            “Crap!” Gene suddenly exclaims, the spell broken. “What time is it?” He whips his phone out of his pocket. “I’m already ten minutes late coming back from lunch! Lydia’s gonna have my head!”

 

            Michael, who is daubing primer onto Louise’s neck, barely looks up. “I’ll tell Lydia you were helping me organize my wigs or something. Go on back to work, I’ll page you when we’re done here.”

 

            Louise has a lightbulb moment. “Why don’t you text him instead? It’ll be more discrete,” she adds, hoping that neither of them mentions that she, Louise, could easily text him when they’re done.

 

            “Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Michael says, flashing a conspiratorial smirk her way.

 

            Gene gives Michael his phone number. Michael calls it—“to make sure I got it right”—and his voice is heavy with meaning when he adds, “Now you have my number you can call me anytime.”

 

            Gene stumbles out of the room in a wave of awkwardness that makes Louise pinch the bridge of her nose and sigh. She’s done all she can for him; the rest is up to Gene.

 

            Michael mutters under his breath as he stipples on two different color correctors to the largest hickey. “Yellow to cancel the purple, peach to cancel the blue. Basic color theory.”

 

            Louise is surprised; color correctors were popular a couple of summers ago, and she thought they were just a gimmick. “It looks better already.”

 

            “Now Louise, I don’t believe for a minute that this is the first hickey you’ve ever had. What did you do about the others?”

 

            “Wore ‘em loud and proud.”

 

            “So what’s so different about the—how did Gene put it—redneck lamprey?”

 

            She sighs, not sure how much she should say. “My parents wouldn’t approve.”

 

            He casts her a long steady look in the mirror. “Your redneck lamprey is older, isn’t he?”

 

            “How did— _damn it_.” She scowls; she’s rarely caught like that.

 

            “Girl, please. My first boyfriend was 24 and I was 17. I know all the signs. I don’t know what worried me more, that my parents would discover that I had a boyfriend, or that he was so much older.”

 

            “So, what did you do?”

 

            He winks at her. “Enjoyed it. Learned how to cover the evidence.”

 

            “I’m glad you did.”

 

            Michael talks her through the process as he covers her marks. Primer, color correctors, heavy concealers. Daub-daub-daub, blend-blend-blend. Powder (not too much). Setting spray. No collars to rub away the makeup, lots of cold compresses in private.

 

            He dumps several of the products he used into an old makeup bag, cutting over Louise’s polite instance that, no, she can’t, really. “Now Louise, you’re gonna make me cry if you don’t take this, and I’m not wearing waterproof mascara. They’re all samples I can’t use anyway, and you need them.”

 

            Louise stuffs the little pouch in her backpack. _Well, one good turn deserves another._ “I’m glad Gene thought to take me to you.”

 

            Michael begins cleaning up his makeup table, his face pink, his gaze anywhere except on Louise. “So yes, your brother.”

 

            Louise smirks, glad Michael is smart enough to take the opening. “Yeah?”

 

            “What’s his…deal?”

 

            “His deal?”

 

            “You know, his… _deal_.”

 

            Louise pretends to not get it, because making people squirm is one of her favorite things. “Oh yeah, his _deal_. Well, he’s single.”

 

            “Mmm?”

 

            “Yeah, he and his girlfriend broke up after graduation.”

 

            “Oh.”

 

            “He broke up with his boyfriend at the end of his summer.”

 

            “Oh! So he’s bi?”

 

            “Mm-hum.”

 

            Michael pulls his phone out of his pocket. A satisfied smile plays at the corners of his lips, and Louise can’t help but congratulate herself on a job well done. “I guess I should let your brother know you’re ready.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit it, I went on a bit of a nostalgia trip with Gene in the theater. I was a *huge* theater geek in high school, and played Yente in "Fiddler on the Roof" my senior year, cementing it as my very favorite musical. Conrad Birdie's suit from our production of "Bye Bye Birdie" was a constantly disintegrating mess.


	7. SIX

            Tina stares at her hands clasped in her lap, the purple gloves popping  nicely against her magenta coat. Teddy has rambled the entire hour they’ve been on the road, but fortunately he needs little more than an audience and occasional affirmative noises to be content.   Tina’s stomach tightens the closer they get to Seymore Bay.

 

            She’s glad to be going home. Even the sight of Uncle Teddy at the airport, slightly jowlier than he was a year ago, was delightful. Part of her can’t wait to see the renovations to Wonder Warf that her father’s told her about, Gene’s weight loss, even witness the Battle of the Two Buffets, as Louise calls their parent’s current competition. But another part of Tina wonders…well, what will they see when they look at _her_?

 

            She looks out the window and cringes. She can never pass Nicey Spicey without remembering that embarrassing Valentine’s Day when she tried to sabotage Jimmy Jr.’s date with Becky.

 

            “So, enough about me, Tina, how are you?” Teddy asks as her turns onto Ocean Avenue.

 

            “Well, I’ve started listing out grad schools but—“

 

            “Hey! Hey, do you like Yours Truly Stationary’s new paintjob?” He points out the window as they pass the building. “I did it last summer. Janine wanted a bright pink, but I think mauve and grey is classier.”

 

            “Uh yeah, it’s…great.”

 

            Teddy parks outside the Belcher’s place.  Tina scarcely has time to hop over a mound of slush onto the dry pavement when the restaurant door swings open and her mother barrels out, crying and flinging her arms around her oldest daughter.

 

            “My Tina-Beena’s home! I’ve missed you so much, sweetie!”

 

            Tina is surprised by the tears that well up in her eyes. She might be a strong, independent woman, but she’s missed her mommy more than she realized.

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

           

            _Burgers, fryer oil, the faint whiff of ketchup and mustard. The smells of her childhood. The smells of home. Tina Belcher, a plump but pretty young woman, enters her family’s restaurant for the first time in a year, and is overwhelmed by memories of the past, the realities of the present._

 

            Is she the only one who mentally narrates her life like she’s a character in a novel? She doesn’t know. It’s probably a holdover from all those years of writing erotic friend fiction.

 

            “I was just cutting onions,” Bob lies, wiping his running eyes on his apron as he hugs his daughter. Tina is shocked to spot silver flecks in his moustache, but is relived to see that his bald spot hasn’t expanded past the size of the mayonnaise jar lid.

 

            _Gene, a stocky bear of a guy, his black hair falling out of his ponytail, runs over and sweeps her up in a giant hug so fierce that he almost picks her up off the ground._

 

            “Kids Meeting tonight, my room, after the snoring begins,” he hisses into his sister’s ear.

 

            She nods. Maybe he’ll let her chop off that gross ponytail if she gets him high enough. Tina likes her men clean-cut, and is convinced that Gene would have better luck with men and women alike if he had short hair again, especially now that his belly is so much flatter.

 

            “Well damn, look what the cat dragged in!”

 

            _Zeke, her old classmate, her first lover, exits the kitchen and barrels towards her, a giant grin splitting his pugnacious face. She meets him halfway and he takes her in his arms, spins her around, sets her down and kisses her cheek. He’s scarcely taller than she is, with short, crinkly brown hair, bright hazel eyes, and a thick-barreled, muscular chest set off by his tight grey t-shirt and jeans that fit his perfect butt…perfectly._

 

            “Zeke.” One word, just his name, but it’s a far friendlier tone than she used as a tween, heavy with memories.

 

            “T-Bird.”

 

            _Nobody would call him handsome. Strong but heavy jaw, a nose that has been broken and imperfectly set, thick brows, slightly bow-legged; he’s too furry, too burly, too rough for her taste. But there’s charm and charisma there, too. And a great butt, she can still remember the feel of it in her hands. Butt. When he smiles, like he’s smiling at her now, Tina, still smarting from her recent misadventures in love, thinks that maybe a night with him would be good for what ails her._

 

            “ _Ow!_ ” Zeke hunches over, grabbing at his lower back.

 

            “Oh, I’m _sorry_ , Zeke, I was just trying to get by with this heavy bus tub and say hi to my sister who I haven’t seen for a year.”

 

            Tina frowns at her sister and Zeke. They’re glaring daggers at each other, but there’s something else there, an undercurrent she can’t quite figure out.

 

            “Damn it, that was my _fffffffff-freakin’_ kidney, Louise!”

           

            “Bring it in, Tina,” Louise says, ignoring Zeke, and embraces her sister.

            Bob admonishes his younger daughter, Linda asks Zeke if he’s okay, and Teddy shouts for a special of the day (Celery-bration Burger, comes with braised celery). Louise uses the chaos to repeat the invitation to the Kids Meeting to her sister. Tina uses it to take in the changes that have transformed her baby sister in the nine months since she last saw her.

 

            _Enviably lithe, moving with the easy, almost negligent grace of a woman so confident of her beauty that she doesn’t need to think about it, the youngest of the kids is also the tallest, easily three inches taller than Tina herself, as tall as their father in her work boots. Wearing a lime-green t-shirt and skinny jeans, her hair is piled high on her head in a messy bun. Unlike her older sister, Louise doesn’t need makeup to enhance her looks, but Tina notices the foundation on her neck and knows what it means._

 

            Tina blinks. She can scarcely believe that Louise is old enough to hide hickies. Tina herself suddenly feels overdone and lumpy-dumpy next to her radiant little sister.

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

            Bob and Linda insist that Tina take the day off, but Tina, though tired from her red-eye flight, can see that it’s going to be a busy afternoon, with school out and it being only a week before Christmas. She’d feel like a guest if she left the work to her family, and besides, Linda needs to cut out early to prep Tina’s welcome home dinner. Already the apartment smells like her mother’s rich chicken noodle soup, Tina’s favorite, and Linda promised salad and bread to go with it.

 

            Tina takes her bags up to the apartment, opens her bedroom door, and blinks in confusion.

 

            Grey walls. Kuchi Kopi posters. Unmade bed with a history of Jim Jones and the Jonestown massacre on the pillow.

 

            Oh yeah. Shortly before she left for freshman year, Tina insisted on trading rooms with Louise, so her sister would finally have a proper bedroom instead of a closet. Bob worried that the apartment would no longer feel like home to Tina, but it didn’t seem fair to hog the big room when she’d be gone from it most of the year. Louise leapt on the chance, no doubt because she could see the potential of the new fire escape Mr. Fischoeder had installed earlier that spring.

 

            Tina opens the door to her new room. _God, how did Louise put up with this?_   With the bed, dresser, nightstand, and metal closet, there’s barely enough room to turn around. The air is stale, and she wishes she could open a window. She changes quickly, pleased that the jeans and t-shirts she left behind are too big for her now, and makes her way down to the restaurant.

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

 

            _Okay Tina. You can do this._

 

            Tina does a quick breath check. Good; the prescription mouthwash is still working. Having decided that her old clothes are just too big, Tina instead stands in the doorway to the restaurant kitchen wearing her second-favorite pair of jeans and a black t-shirt that does great things for her bust line.

 

            The family is in recovery mode from lunch rush. Linda, ostensibly cleaning the front of the house, is mostly chatting away with Teddy and Mort. Mort came in towards the end of the rush, gave Tina a welcome home hug, a fist-bump to Zeke and Louise, and settled down with his usual. Bob, having finished scraping the grill, has moved on to flipping and refilling the prep pans. Louise pushes dishes through the washer, untidy strands of hair forming a frizzy halo around her face in the steam, while Zeke stands at the other end, drying the dishes and putting them away.

 

            Tina watches his butt as he crouches down to store the heavier pans on the bottom shelf. _Damn_ , when did he get that body? The Zeke she slept with at the end of her senior year had been slightly pudgy, like Tina herself. This Zeke reminds her of those pictures of Hugh Jackman on the beach that she drooled all over when she was fifteen; not totally ripped, but solid muscle without a bit of pudge in sight.  

 

            “Hey Tina, are you going to lend a hand or just stand there and hold up the doorframe?”

 

            Tina blinks at her sister. Louise gives Tina the stink-eye and brushes her wild baby hairs out of her face with the back of her wet hand.

 

            “Aw, give’er a break, girl, she just got back,” Zeke says, earning an evil look from Louise. He stands up and gives Tina a once-over. “Ya look nice. You here to serve tables or model?”

 

            Tina feels her face turn as pink as the lipstick she swiped on earlier. “I—uh—“

 

            “Get some pickles for me, will you, Tina?” Bob asks.

 

            _Nothing’s changed_ , Tina smiles to herself. The big industrial-sized jar is on the same shelf, the same spot even, that it was when she was a little girl. It’s heavy and a touch slippery, but Tina makes it to the counter without incident. It’s a new jar, and Tina just barely manages to refrain from making ugly grunts as she wrestles with the lid.

 

            “Zeke, could you help me with this?”

 

            “Sure thing, T-Bird.”

 

            Tina smiles sweetly up at him, remembering to angle her head so she’s looking at him through her lashes. Her eyes are easily her best features, and now that she has contact lenses, she can use them to full effect.

 

            “Oh my God,” Louise murmurs in a stage whisper, glaring pointedly at her sister as she lifts a tall stack of dishes and, with a slight _oof_ , plants them on the shelf.

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *           

 

            The Belchers, Zeke, Mort, and Teddy sit down to the long table in the living room that Linda usually only unfolds on Thanksgiving and Christmas. Now that there’s no children’s table, it’s a bit crowded, but nobody seems to mind. There’s plenty of soup, salad, and warm bread for everyone, and the promise of as much pie as even Gene can handle for dessert.

 

            Teddy arrived early, while Bob and the kids were closing the restaurant. Linda just unfurled the old tablecloth and began mentally mapping out where to set the dishes, to hide the worst of the stains when Teddy rang the bell. Both of his shovel-like hands were full with plastic bags from Fresh Feed and Devendorf’s Bakery.

 

            “Teddy, what did you do?” Linda laughed as he plopped the bags on the kitchen counter and began unloading pies and cans of whipped topping.

 

            “So I walked into Devendorf’s,” he said, and Linda settled in for one of Teddy’s long stories. “I wanted to bring a couple of pies, but which ones? What’s Tina’s favorite? Some people like fruit, some like chocolate—what kind of crust? They let me try a few, but they cut me off after four, they call it the Lin—uh, it’s just a rule.”

 

            “Humph!”

 

            “Anyway,” he hurried on, “I ended up buying an assortment.”

 

            “It looks to me like you bought one of everything.”

 

            “I didn’t buy one of everything, Lin,” he shook his head, as he folded up the plastic bags. “They sold out of three of them earlier in the day.”

 

            “Silly me.”

 

            “Then of course, I stopped at Fresh Feed, to get whipped topping, but what type? Low-fat, full-fat, plain, vanilla—“

 

            “I think you did great, Teddy.” She turned affectionate eyes to the refrigerator he’d stuffed with pies and topping; leave it to Teddy.

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

            “So, Tina, where are you working now?” Mort asks.

 

            Tina swallows a hot mouthful of soup, coughs slightly, and blurts without thinking “At Hoo—“

 

            “Who cares?” Louise cuts over, giving her sister a significant look. “It’s just some waitressing job, right? Tell us about school.”

 

            “ _Uhhh_ -oh!” Tina realizes what she almost said. Her parents would have a fit if they knew she works at Hooters. “Uh, school’s fine. I should get my report by end of day tomorrow. I’ve been looking at grad sch—“

 

            “All my babies are braniacs!” Linda crows, smiling proudly at her three children. “Gene got a 2.8 this semester. Tell her, Gene!”

 

            Bob, seeing his oldest daughter’s face fall, frowns. “Lin, let her finish—“

 

            “That’s nothing!” Louise snorts. “I made a 3.5 _and_ I’m taking honor’s courses _and_ I’m testing this spring to take college credits next year!”

 

            “It’s not nice to brag,” Gene says. “Besides, that’s just academics; I make _art_.”

 

            “I make two arts like yours in the toilet every morning!”

 

            Gene protests, Mort offers fiber recommendations (which Teddy fully endorses), Zeke laughs, and Louise orders him to chew with his mouth closed. Linda bursts into a nonsensical song about her baby Einsteins, while Bob pinches his nose and sighs. Tina quietly slurps up the rest of her soup and watches the show, ignored, glad to be spared the risk of sticking her foot in her mouth.

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

            Right around 10:30, the hall echoing with their parent’s snoring, first Louise, then Tina, enter Gene’s room, both wearing hoodies and beanies, each of them bearing goodies.   His room is the best one for this, since it already smells the weirdest, a combination of farts, his general scent, and the various plug-ins, incense, and sprays he uses to try to cover up the smells. Any lingering smell of pot will be lost in all that.

 

            Louise, having resisted the urge to smash the pink and green pipe Zeke bought her last summer—hey, he’s a dick, but it’s a nice pipe, and it’s _hers_ —enters with her pockets bulging with edibles. Tina, wisely opting to not try to transport weed from Illinois to New Jersey, instead enters with bags of snacks, because she and Gene in particular tend to get the munchies.

 

            Ever the good host, Gene’s already opened the window a few inches, held up with the copy of _War and Peace_ he bought for a world literature class but never read past the intro. The standing fan he usually has running in the summer is going already, situated to blow smoke out the window, and he’s stocked up on bottles of water and soda. Pandora is playing his stoner rock playlist. Gene’s already packed the pipe. He lights it, and passes it to Louise, knowing that while Louise prefers edibles, Tina refuses to smoke at all. Tina started the party earlier with two of the cannabis gummy bears Louise left under her pillow as a welcome-home gift, so she’s already beginning to snicker at everything.

 

            Brother and sister share the pipe, careful to blow the smoke into the fan so as much of it exits the room as possible. Louise tosses a small brownie to Tina, perhaps with more force than was necessary, then pulls a bag of chocolates from her hoodie pocket and holds one up. It looks like an ordinary chocolate wrapped in Santa-printed foil. “Ganja Claus, anyone? Don’t worry, they’re super-low THC, like, two milligrams each.”

 

            Grinning, each takes a candy. They pop open the snacks—cheese curls and sour cream and onion chips for Tina and Gene, and mixed nuts for Louise.

 

            “Sooo…Shawn,” Gene says, wiggling his eyebrows at Tina.

 

            She half-chokes on a bite of brownie, spewing little bits of chocolate in Gene’s face.

 

            “Party foul!”

 

            “Sh!” Tina and Gene wave their hands at Louise, who tries to hide her laughter behind her fingers.

 

            “Anyway, Shawn. Tell us about him. You said he’s a junior?”

 

            Tina shrugs, swallows, and collects herself. “There’s not much to tell,” she says, aware that her voice is more monotone than it’s been in years. “We broke up a couple of days ago.”

 

            “Oh. Wow.”

 

            “That was fast.” Louise snaps her fingers. “Next!”

 

            “Tact, sister, tact.” Gene shakes his head. “What happened, T?”

 

            Tina holds up a finger, and works out a pouch of brownie from her cheek with her tongue. It gives her time to think, which is nice right now, because thoughts are rapidly becoming fluffy little clouds. “We wanted different things,” Tina says. “I wanted to keep dating him, and he wanted to date someone else.”

 

            Louise sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Brilliant.”

 

            “It’s okay, though. I mean, we were only going out for two months. I’m okay. Really.”

 

            “I hear Jimmy Junior is single,” Louise pipes up, earning a dirty look from Gene.

 

            “Oh? That’s…no, not again.”

 

            “Good woman,” Gene says, helping himself to another handful of cheese curls. “Speaking of good ideas, I’ve kind of met someone.”

 

            Tina closes her eyes and touches her fingertips to her temples. “I see…a tall man. Slim. Emaciated, even.”

 

            “Bingo! Give that lady a Ganja Claus!” Louise tosses the candy to her sister.

 

            “His name’s Michael. He’s playing at Warf Arts through January. Hey, maybe we could all go to one of his shows!”

 

            “That’d be fun,” Tina muses. She’s gathered up all their foils from the chocolates and rolled them up into a ball. Tina tosses it in the air and tries to catch it. It bounces off the tip of her nose and lands in her glass of soda with a _plop_.

 

            Gene buries his face in a pillow to smother his laughter, while Louise silently giggles herself to tears. Tina just blinks at them. “I’m okay.”

 

            “How about you, Louise? Anyone special in your—“

 

            “No.”

 

            “What about your hick—“

 

             “ _No_.”

 

             Louise glowers at her sister, for reasons that Tina can’t understand but make her feel guilty anyway. She hurriedly changes the subject. “So. Zeke.”

 

            “Yeah…?” Gene senses dangerous waters ahead. Louise crunches a handful of nuts.

 

            Tina contemplates her nails. “He’s looking good, isn’t he? Is he seeing someone?”

 

            “Uh, I dunno,” Gene says, giving Louise a significant look.

 

            Louise swallows the rest of the nuts. “No clue. You want to bone the Mad Pooper?”

 

            “That was a long time ago,” Tina says. “And he’s kind of hot now, in a roughneck sort of—“

 

            Tina can’t feel the change in the atmosphere, but Gene can. Louise is sucking the life out of the pipe, practically going cross-eyed with effort. He glances around, desperate for a distraction, and his gaze lands on the three cans of soda next to Tina’s drained glass. One of Tina’s newest ladylike affectations is to never drink directly from bottles or cans, glasses only.

 

            “Don’t you have to pee, Tina?”

 

            Tina’s gaze follows his. She contemplates the drained cans, her empty glass, and does an internal check. “Yeah, I think I do.”

 

            As soon as she leaves the room, Louise, red-faced, blows the smoke into the fan with a loud, long, spit-filled exhale. Gene doesn’t wait for her to catch her breath.

 

            “You still haven’t told her? Why haven’t you told her? This is bad, Louise, really bad.”

 

            Her eyes are quite bloodshot. “Nothing to tell, Genie-Beanie. Didn’t you see the way he was flirting with her?”

 

            Gene rolls his own red eyes. “ _That’s_ what’s chapping your ass? He was just being friendly. He looks at _you_ like he wants to…” He drifts off a bit, unsure how to complete the thought. Honestly, Gene thinks Zeke looks at Louise like he either wants to drop to one knee and propose, or make drop her to her knees and—“ _Uh_.”

 

            “ _Pft_. Whatever. It’s just dick, you know?”

 

            He doesn’t buy it for a minute. “You’ve _got_ to tell her. She’s going to make a total ass of herself if you don’t.”

 

            But Louise shakes her head, smiling a little. “She’ll hop on Jimmy Jr. and that’ll be the end of it. Or not. I don’t care.”

 

            Tina opens the door, ending the conversation. Gene hopes he has enough weed to get through this Christmas break, because he has a feeling that, for better or worse, this is going to be one for the record books.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did they use the Celery-bration burger on the show? I don't remember, but I like it enough that I think it's worth the repeat.


	8. SEVEN

            _Thump-thump-thump-thump._

 

            Louise works the speedbag the next morning, sweating in the cold basement as she envisions each hit cracking Zeke's nose. 

 

            The worst part is she knows she’s being irrational. Tina, the sole, lucky inheritor of Linda’s big-boob gene, isn’t to blame; Zeke is hot, and Tina knows nothing about Zeke and Louise’s relationship, or “relationship”, or whatever the hell it is. As for Zeke…well, it’s pretty fucking douchy to flirt with another girl right in front of her, especially her own fucking sister. Even if they aren’t exclusive, or even dating really, it’s just _shitty_ , and the fact that she _technically_ has nothing to complain about, no claim on him, just makes it worse.

 

            Louise turns to the body bag, sets herself up, and, keeping her guard up and her feet moving, gives it several strong uppercuts. She might be a life-long member of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee, but Louise at least inherited her mother’s big hands, and she uses them to her advantage, imagining that she’s landing gut-punches strong enough to make Zeke puke.

 

            Louise isn’t a fool; though they never discussed anything akin to their sex lives while he was gone, she knows Zeke wasn’t celibate.  It’s okay. It’s just sex, just like the guys she horsed around with at parties; none of it _meant_ anything. But with Tina, his former lover, batting her eyes and purring for help to open the big pickle jar right in front of her, and Zeke puffing up and showing off…

 

            She pauses, halts the swinging bag. There’s…sweat…blurring her vision, making it hard to see. Louise stares up at the ceiling, blinks rapidly, and wipes her eyes. Her anger is crumbling, and hurt is seeping through the cracks. She can’t believe she feels hurt, but she does. It’s raw and makes her chest physically ache, her nose prickle and her eyes burn.

 

            Louise enjoyed her share of makeout sessions with random guys over the previous months, but, though she felt like a starving predator roaming Huxley High’s corridors, she never actually had sex with anyone. Having been with a grown man ruined the boys at school for her, even the seniors, a couple of whom, sensing her hunger, offered themselves up for her next meal, but Louise, though hungry, wasn’t that thirsty. She eventually concluded that those gross, squishy feelings she thought she was starting to develop for Zeke by the end of summer weren’t _feelings_ at all. The raw attraction, the magical way their bodies fit together, the tantalizing lure of the forbidden, the excitement of their clandestine meetings…the fire of her lust was inevitable. She just mistook that lust for feelings, that’s all. A common error, if all the drama she saw around her at school meant anything.

 

 _It’s simply a chemical reaction in my brain,_ she told herself. _I’ll extinguish it by the time he comes home, and then I’ll enjoy him as a true friend with benefits._

 

            But then Zeke surprised her in the alley, and she tossed her resolution into her shopping cart along with the cheeses. How her heart did that weird jumpy thing at the sound of his voice, how inexplicably good it felt to kiss him again! It was that incredible night snowed in at Mudflap and Critter’s that did her in.   She can still hear his relived groan as he first slid into her, feel his hands on her body, his lips on her’s, the memory of his praise for her beauty, how amazing she felt, how much he missed her, burned into her brain. They tore at each other like animals at first, all primal instincts and need, then, later, deep in the night, he made love to her so gently, with such tender passion that tears prickled her eyes as she came. She had even admitted that she’d missed him, a huge concession for her, and doubly brave, as, unlike Zeke, she didn’t say it in the heat of the moment.

 

            And after that, he has the _balls_ to flirt blatantly with Tina, right in front of her! Louise, panting, sweat trickling down her back, lands a flurry of jabs against the bag. She’ll show him! She’ll find the hottest guy she can and practically hump his leg right in front of Zeke, she’ll—

 

            She’s suddenly aware that her phone is ringing. She looks over to the bench where she left it, and the screen shows a piece of ginger root. _Crap!_

 

            Panting, she grabs the phone and hits the answer button. “Shit!”

 

            “Hello to you too, skidmarks,” Jessica sighs on the other end of the line.

 

            “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I forgot.” Louise wipes her face on a towel. She feels like an idiot. They planned to talk this morning while Rudy and his family are visiting his great aunt. How could she have forgotten so soon? Of course she knows the answer, and it’s one more reason to kick Zeke’s ass.

 

            “I was just exercising. I’ll call you back on Skype.” Louise continues pacing the basement, stretching as best she can so her muscles don’t lock up, and calls Jessica back.

           

             Jessica is sitting outside. The sun is bright behind her, and Louise can see a tall palm tree and a few cacti in the background. Jess tilts her head.  “You okay? You look kinda mad.”

 

             Louise shakes her head, trying to will away her frown. As angry as she is, she won’t risk their conversation being overheard and Zeke going to jail, and frankly, just talking about it will maker her even madder. “I’m fine. How’s Arizona?”

 

             “I have to say, I’m tired of all these cold days! Here I am wearing a light sweater outside in the middle of winter—it’s only 65 degrees.”

 

              “I’m going to strangle you.”

 

               Jess taps her chin, pretending to think. “Oh yeah, didn’t you guys just get a foot of snow or something?”

 

               Louise holds up a threatening hand. “I got another guy just like this one, and I’m not afraid to use them!”

 

               “Stop flirting, I’m not interested.”

 

                “Yeah, yeah.”

 

                Jessica shakes her head. “Anyway, it’s really been great here. His grandparents have been so nice! They even insist that I call them Grandma Susan and Grandpa Irving, like Rudy does. They like the tote you bought me, by the way.”

 

                “Cool,” Louise says. “What’ve you guys been doing, besides soaking up all the nation’s vitamin D?”

 

                 “Trust me, I haven’t had any vitamin D here,” Jessica grumbles. “His grandparents aren’t super conservative or anything, but Rudy and I barely get any time alone together.”

 

                 Louise, a longtime fan of _The Simpsons_ , points and laughs, Nelson Muntz style.

 

                  “Uh-huh, and what about you and you-know-who?”

 

                 Louise makes a disgruntled sound. “Not important. So, what else have you guys been doing? This is the latke holiday, isn’t it?”

 

                 Okay, so she’s playing dumb, but it’s a good distraction. Jessica snorts with laughter.

 

                 “Yeah, it’s the latke holiday. And jelly doughnuts holiday. And his family likes fried chicken, too. Between you and me, it’s making my stomach hurt.”

 

                 “Poor you.”

 

                 “We visited the Phoenix Music Museum, which you know Rudy loved, and the Art Museum. The Botanical garden was amazing, though we missed the monarch butterflies. We did a few easy hikes, too.”

 

              “Sweet.”

 

            “It’s so beautiful here! I took a ton of pictures, I’ll send you some.”

 

            Louise frowns; Jessica is babbling. Why is she babbling? Louise can practically smell her nervousness through the screen. “What else?”

 

            “What else?”

 

            “Come on Jess. What’s going on?”

 

            Jessica tucks her hair behind her ears, a gesture that Louise knows means she’s about to get serious. “Well, we’ve spent a fair amount of time at their synagogue.”

 

            Louise didn’t expect _that_. “Uh, cool, I guess?”

 

            “Yeah.” Jess chews her lip. “I mean, I’ve gone to synagogues at home and stuff, and it was fine. Nice cultural touchstones, met a lot of Tammy types. But it’s…I don’t know, it’s _different_ here. His cousin Mandy—you remember her, right?”

 

            “Yeah, Mandytary Napkin.”

 

             “Ugh, that’s so gross. Anyway, she’s here at ASU, and introduced us to members of the school’s Hillel group--that’s the Jewish organization. And Rabbi Goldberg is really cool, he’s like, barely over thirty, he gets young people. I-I don’t know, I’m kind of seeing things in a new light.”

 

            “So…you think you want to be religiously Jewish?”

 

            Jessica shrugs, sighs, rubs her forehead. “Don’t you dare tell Rudy anything, I don’t want to get his hopes up. I know he’d love it if I were Jewish too.”

 

            Louise’s heart twists a little. If Jessica becomes Jewish, it will be another connection between her two best friends that she doesn’t share. Weren’t they supposed to wait until graduation before they start drifting apart? Not that the three of them will ever cut ties; like it or not, they’re going to be her friends for life, because nobody exits Louise’s orbit unless she kicks them out.   Of course, Louise can’t be a monster and try to discourage her friend from exploring her religion, much as she might like to do so. She licks her lips, choosing her words with care.

 

            “Well, what attracts you? Beyond the bagels and shmear.”

 

            Jessica chuckles, then thinks for a moment. “The focus is more on actions than words; it’s what you do, more than what you believe, that makes you a Jew. And it’s intellectually rigorous. I mean, you can doubt and question—maybe you even _should_ , really—without loosing your religion. The rituals mean something to me. And, I dunno,” she adds softly. “I-I just think I have a Jewish soul.”

 

            Louise sighs. “Well, that’s cool, I guess. I mean, I don’t get it, but I’m happy for you.”

 

            “How encouraging.”

 

            “Well, I _don’t_ get it, but I _am_ happy for you, fartface,” Louise grumbles.

 

            “You’re the first one I’ll invite to my conversion ceremony.”

 

            “Yeah, speaking of, how do you do that? I mean, do you sign some sort of certificate or--?”

 

            “I’m not sure. I guess I’ll have to find out. I think study with a rabbi and take a _mikveh_.”

 

            “A _mitzvah_?”

 

            Jessica pinched the bridge of her nose. “Oy vey.”

 

 

            *                        *                        *                        *                        *

           

           

            Gene, all but pacing a bare path on the carpet in his room, contemplates his phone with increasing anxiety. He has the day off at the theater, and doesn’t quite have the courage to just show up anyway in the hope that Michael is there. He can survive a rejection, but not one in person; the awkwardness would be too much to bear. Should he ask Michael out via text? No, that’s stupid and childish. Calling him is the only real option. But it’s only ten in the morning. Is that too early?   Maybe Micheal was out last night with friends.

 

            He sighs and sits down. It’s Tuesday. If he’s going to take Michael out Thursday night, he really should call today, so it doesn’t look like some last-minute thing. Besides, Michael’s social calendar probably fills up quickly. Yes, he’ll call today, before his shift at the restaurant. Right now.

 

            Gene takes a breath and hits call. The phone rings. Maybe Michael won’t pick up. Maybe it will go to voicemail. Maybe—

 

            “Good morning, Gene.”

 

            Gene’s heart is doing the tango. “Uh, hi, Michael, it’s Gene.”

 

            One of the things Gene likes about Michael is that he always seems to laugh _with_ Gene’s awkwardness, not _at_ it. “Yes, I know.”

 

            “So, hi.”

 

            “Hi.”

 

            A long pause, and Gene seriously considers throwing the phone out the window to get out of this conversation.

 

            “Are you still there, Gene?”

 

            “Huh? Yes! Yes, I am. Wonder Warf!”

 

            “Wonder Warf?”

 

            “Have you been? There! To Wonder Warf.”

 

            “No, I haven’t. I’ve been hoping a local will show me around there. I hear they have a nice light show during the winter on weekends.”

 

            It’s a hint big enough for even Gene to catch. He relaxes a bit, feels his shoulders unclench and drift down into their normal position. “Yeah. I was wondering if you’d like to go see them this Thursday?”

 

            “That’d be great, I’d love it.”

 

            Gene can’t keep the grin out of his voice. He’s never been good at playing it cool. “Awesome!  So, maybe we could go at say, six?”

 

            “I’d like that. I can pick you up, I have a rental.”

 

            Gene’s grateful for the smooth cover; he didn’t know how to tell Michael he doesn’t have a car. “Great! Meet me here, and I’ll take you to dinner. What do you like?”

 

            “I haven’t tried many local restaurants yet. We did some Italian place and it was…uh, it was like the Olive Garden and Chef Boyardee had a baby and abandoned it in the woods.”

 

            “I bet that was Jimmy Pesto’s!”

 

            “Yes, it was! That’s it! The one with the weird twin busboys.”

 

            “Andy and Ollie.”

 

            “They were the best part of the whole evening.”

 

            Gene snickers. “We can do better, I promise.”

 

            “I’m sure we can.”

 

            Gene is smiling so hard the corners of his mouth hurt. _We._

 

            “Wait, doesn’t your family own a place? Why don’t we eat there?”

 

            “At the restaurant?” Gene doesn’t mean to sound scandalized, but he can’t help it. “It’s just burgers and fries.”

 

            “I want to learn all about you, Gene Belcher. And I love burgers and fries.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let’s talk a bit about the whole mikvah/mitzvah thing. Please feel free to jump in, Jewish readers! Like Jessica, I’m ethnically Jewish thanks to my mother’s side but wasn’t raised in the religion, and I don’t want to accidentally misrepresent the faith.
> 
> A mikveh is a ritual bath performed by Jews. It is performed by both genders (separately) for many reasons, one of which is to introduce a new member to the faith. A mitzvah, on the other hand, literally means “commandment," referring, of course, to God’s commands. It’s often used to mean “good deed”, though that’s an imperfect translation. 
> 
> Hillel is an international student union for Jewish college students.


	9. EIGHT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grab a snack, because this is a long chapter!

           “You’ve _got_ to be shitting me!”

            “You watch your mouth, Miss Missy!”

            Bob knew this conversation was coming, and Louise is taking it about as well as he expected. He glances nervously between mother and daughter sitting at opposite ends of the table, each holding her fork in a death grip.

            “Louise,” he says, hoping to smooth things over, “He’ll be just one person in a crowd—“

            “Logan Barry Bush is not a person!” Louise waves her fork dramatically, peppering Tina with bits of morning egg. “He stole my ears and made me think he’d burned them!”

            “And you called in a favor with a biker gang and threatened to cut his ears off.”

            “He used me as a human shield in a snowball fight!”

            “Well, he _did_ look pretty stupid, hiding behind a little girl.”

            “Remember what a weenus he was when he worked here? He’s going to be like that all freakin’ night!”

            Linda sighs. “Louise, that was years ago, and he’s been here since without any problems—on _his_ end.”

            Both parents are glaring at her now, no doubt remembering the last time Logan was in the restaurant, when thirteen-year-old Louise “tripped” and spilled an entire pitcher of ice water on him.

            “ _Anyway_ , why the hell did you invite him, Mom?”

            “Yeah, Mom. Why?” Tina frowns. Their mother doesn’t like the Bushes, and she had to know how Louise would respond. Why court trouble?

            “Look, I ran into him at Fresh Feed. He was so polite, we talked for a while, and he told me how his mother’s chemo treatments are going. I felt bad for him, alright? It’s so sad. And it’s _Christmas_.”

            “Chemo?” Tina didn’t know Mrs. Bush was sick. “Does she have c—“

            “Yes, Tina, she has—“ Linda’s voice drops to a stage whisper, “— _cancer_.”

            “ **Cancer** , Tina! She has **cancer**! Of the tits!”

            Bob glares at his youngest daughter. “Louise.”

            “Louise, hush! Yes, Tina,” Linda continues more quietly. “Stage two.”

            “Oh my God.”

            Linda shakes her head. “I should get checked, I’m so bad at doing self-exams.”

            “I can help, Mom.” Tina says, her mouth running before her brain. “We can check each other.”

            “No, Tina. No.”

             “But—“

              “No, honey. No.”

            There’s an awkward pause, and Tina could crawl in a hole and die. She really thought she had a better handle on her foot-in-mouth disease.

            “So you’re totally okay with this, Dad? With Dingleberry Bush in our freakin’ _house_? Eating our freakin’ _food_?”

            “Yes, Louise, I am, and I expect you to behave like a civilized adult.”

            “Well,” Louise says, cutting a sly glance at her mother, “I guess we’ll find out if he prefers the nacho cheese fountain or the chocolate fountain.”

            Bob half-jumps out of his chair. “ _What_?”

            “Louise!”

            “What, Mother?” Louise turns innocent eyes to Linda. “Didn’t Dad know?”

            “You rented _another_ machine?”

            Now Linda is staring daggers at her husband. “So what if I did? It’s my party too, Bob.”

            “Lin, we have to pay January’s rent, or have you forgotten?”

            “Well, my _pedestrian tastes_ demanded it, so there!” She punctuates the statement by blowing a raspberry.

            Tina and Gene glare at their baby sister, who is grinning as she polishes off her eggs and watches the show. She ignores them. It’s good payback for forcing her to be “civilized” to her arch-nemesis.

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

            _Tina beams up at Zeke. He returns it gamely, which our heroine takes as a positive sign. He really does have a nice smile._

            “Thank you so much for your help. I never could have prepped all that lettuce so quickly on my own.”

            “Yeah, Zeke,” Louise drawls from the flattop, where she’s wiping down the handles and knobs. “After a semester of culinary school you can prep lettuce like a champ.”

            “Well, _I_ can see the improvement,” Tina says, glancing at his large hands.

            “Thanks, T-Bird. It was nothin’.” He picks up the large lugger of rinsed, dried, hand-leafed lettuce and heads over to the refrigerator. Tina follows him, ignoring the vomiting motions Louise is making at them both.

            _Tina takes a steadying breath. She’s a smart, strong, sensual woman. She can do this._ “So, speaking of Wonder Warf, I was wondering—“

            “Ain’t no one mentioned the Warf, T.”

            “Yeah, so, have you seen the lights this year?”

            “Nah, I—“

            “Me neither. So I was thinking we—“

            “Oh, uh…”

            Tina feels her face heat up. “Unless you’re waiting to take a girlfriend or something. Are you seeing someone special?”

            Zeke takes his time setting the lugger on the shelf, adjusting it so it fits in the refrigerator perfectly. “Well, not exactly, I mean—“

            “Oh, I didn’t know you have a girlfriend.”

            “Um, not really, it’s sorta---“

            Louise doesn’t bother with her coat, she just swings open the back door, allowing a gust of crisp winter afternoon air to whoosh into the kitchen and set the stack of order pads fluttering. “I’m taking out the trash.”

            Bob opens the door to the employee bathroom and steps into the freezing kitchen. “Tina, for God’s sake, close the damn door!”

            Tina shuts it, quietly locks it, too. She doesn’t know what’s bothering Louise, and she’s tired of her sister’s attitude. “I didn’t do it, it was Louise. Don’t have a crap attack, Dad.”

            “She’s…taking out the trash?” Zeke follows Bob’s eyes to her coat still on it’s peg, the bags of trash near the door. Zeke sighs and makes for his own coat. “I’ll take care of it.”

            “Tina, go help your mother out front,” Bob says, telling the younger man with his eyes to stay for a moment. As soon as Tina leaves, he says, “Do you know what’s bothering Louise? She’s been…well, you’ve seen it. I don’t have the energy for her dramatics with the party coming up.”

            “No idea, Mr. B,” Zeke lies. Up until just a few minutes ago he had no idea what was bothering Louise, though he had a suspicion it had something to do with him. Since all she did was bite his head off every time he tried to talk to her, he gave up, figuring she’d work it out on her own. Now that he does know, he’s equal parts delighted and terrified; Louise wouldn’t be jealous if she didn’t have feelings for him, but on the other hand, a jealous Louise is a dangerous Louise. “I’ll take care of it. Just give us a bit.”

            “Take all the time you need,” Bob says, watching as Zeke tosses Louise’s coat over his shoulder and takes a bag of trash into each hand. He opens the door for Zeke, who is almost knocked over by a shivering Louise in her attempt to bolt inside.

            “Talk it out, and come in the front when you’re done,” Bob orders them both, pushing them out and locking the door.

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

            Louise snatches her coat and struggles to put it on, her fingers shaking with cold and rage. “What the fuck? It’s like a billion degrees below zero!”

            “Well, it ain’t my fault you ran outside without your coat in the middle of December,” Zeke says calmly, belatedly realizing that the grin on his face— _She’s jealous! She’s possessive of him!_—could be misinterpreted.

            “This isn’t fucking funny! I’m half-dead with frostbite, you ass!”

            “I ain’t laughin’ at—“ He trails off, frowning as he watches Louise gives up on the buttons. She digs into a pocket and clumsily pulls on her gloves.

            “Aw honey, lemme get them buttons for you.” He reaches out to button her coat, but she backs away, slapping at his hands.

            “Keep your hands off me!” Louise wraps her coat around her trembling body.

            “Fine then. Yer daddy sent me out here to talk to you, so let’s work this out.”

            She rolls her eyes. “If you don’t know what’s wrong then I’m not telling you. I shouldn’t have to explain _crap_ to you!”

            Louise tries to march past him, but Zeke catches her arm. He struggles to keep his voice calm, knowing that matching Louise rage-for-rage won’t help anything. “Just talk to me, babygirl.”

            Her eyes flash fire as she turns, her slapping hand streaking towards his face. _Oh, fuck this_ , Zeke thinks, as he catches her wrist, twists her arm behind her back, and presses her into the wall, holding her in place with his bulk pushed up against her. Her free hand tries to grab at him, so he pins that one to the wall too. He exerts just enough pressure to keep her pinned, to assert his dominance, but not enough to actually hurt her.

            “Don’t try that crap with me, I ain’t here for it.” Zeke’s voice is low against her ear. “You an’ me, we’re gonna stay just like this until we talk it out.”

            “I can outlast you anytime! I can s-stay like this all night!”

            “So can I, babygirl.”

            Louise struggles, but Zeke has her firmly pinned. He figures it’s only a matter of a few minutes before she cracks, but then he notices that she’s violently shaking against him. In their struggle, her coat flew open, and now he’s pressing her t-shirt clad front directly against the brick wall of the building, in weather that’s just barely in double-digits.

            “Okay, if you promise to stop with that slappin’ shit, I’ll let ya go and we can warm you up upstairs.”

            “F-f-fine.”

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

            Five minutes later, Louise finds herself on the couch, swaddled up like she’s back at that awful mother-daughter seminar Linda insisted on when she was a kid. Zeke raided her bedroom and stuffed her into her Kuchi-Kopi hoodie, then wrapped her blankets around her.

            The microwave dings, and Zeke exits the kitchen holding a mug of old coffee he found in the coffee machine. He sets it on the table next to her.

            She shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t know how you expect me to drink that when I’ve been mummified. Anyway, it’ll taste like tar.”

            He carefully loosens the blankets so she can free her arms. “It’ll be hot tar, it’ll warm ya up. Come on, honey, just three sips.”

            He hovers over her, looking for the world like he might pour the gross old coffee into a sippy cup and feed it to her. She sighs and picks up the delightfully warm mug. Pulls a face as she swallows; it tastes even worse than she expected, but it’s hot, and the warmth radiates from her belly out to her arms and legs.

            Zeke nods to himself and sits next to her. He watches her as she drinks, seems to relax when he sees that she’s no longer shaking with cold. _Ass._ How dare he pretend to actually care about her when—

            “I know why yer mad,” he says softly.

            “ _Reeeeally_?”

            It’s times like this that Zeke is reminded that age ain’t just a number, and there’s a world of difference between 16 and 21. “Yeah, really. I didn’t at first, but—girl you were there, yer sister was the one fixin’ to ask _me_ out, not the other way around.”

            Louise deflates slightly. Stupid Zeke! Here she was, ready for a fight and everything, and he’s being totally sensible and reasonable, the jerk. He didn’t even mention the fact that they agreed to be just friends with benefits, so her anger is out of line in the first damn place.

            She sets down the mug and glowers at him. He tries to take her hand, but she snatches it away from him and crosses her arms over her chest, the blankets pooling over her shoulders and into her lap like a cloak. “You’ve been flirting with her for two days, of course she finally took some damn initiative!”

            “No, I ain’t been flirtin’ with her,” Zeke glowers back. “I know ya don’t believe it, and I’m sorry if she thought otherwise, but it’s the truth. I was bein’ _friendly_ to a _friend_ , that’s all. We’ve been friends a long time, and yeah, we were more’n that one night years ago.” He fixes her with a steady look. “You’ve known about that fer a long time.”           

            Louise inspects a stain on her jeans. Nods.

            “She’s part of my past, but yer my present.” He risks reaching out and strokes her cool cheek. “We can’t be together fer real fer a while yet, but when I’m home, with you, I don’t want nobody else.”

            She squints at him. At least she’s listening, and he can tell by the slightly sad expression around her eyes that she wants to believe him.  He pushes forward.  “And even if I were dumb enough to want someone else, I wouldn’t go after your sister, or—damn, girl, you really think I’d flirt with another gal right in yer face? ‘Speially after I told ya how much I missed you?”

            Louise rolls her eyes. “Missed me.”

            Zeke’s expression hardens. He takes her chin in his fingers, angles her head so she can’t look away from him. “Yeah, I did.  Every damn day.” His fingers tighten, pinching her. “Ya think I’d lie to you when I’m balls deep inside you? What the fuck kinda man do you think I am?”

            Louise stares at him, processing what he’s said, and, more importantly, what he’s not saying. Is he telling the truth?  She looks deep into his eyes, beyond the anger and hurt swirling on the surface, and he lets her, blinking as little as possible. Louise finally relaxes her shoulders and takes his hand in hers.

            “You’re telling the truth,” she says softly. “Fine. I accept your apology.”

            “I didn’t apologize.”

            “I know, that was a hint.”

            His mouth twists into something akin to a smile. He brings her hand up to his lips and kisses it. “Alright, ya little brat, I’m sorry I accidentally hurt your feelin’s.”

            “W-what? Hurt my feelings? I don’t have _feelings_ —gross! You were just…being inconsistent and it pissed me off!”

            “Liar.” Zeke laughs. She tries to pull away but he’s not letting her go this time. He pulls her closer until she’s reclined in his arms, her head on the lapel of his coat. “You got lots of feelin’s, and I hurt all of ‘em, an’ I’m sorry, babygirl.”

            Louise makes a token attempt to get up, and isn’t disappointed that it just makes him hold her tighter. “Okay, whatever. And just for that, maybe I can admit that I might have overreacted a little bit.”

            “Might have overreacted a little bit?”

            “It’s the best you’re gonna get from me.”

            “I’ll take it.” He kisses her head, and some of the tension between them evaporates. “Next time ya got a bug up yer butt about somethin’, just _talk_ to me. None of this poutin’ and hittin’ shit, okay?”

            “I wasn’t—“

            “Louise, I’m serious. Yer too old fer that crap, and the hittin’ is gonna git you in trouble, ‘specially with the people we know. I know, I know—“ he waves his hands over her protest. “Yer tougher’n shoe leather, but it’s a hard lifestyle yer enterin’, an’ I don’t want ya to write a check yer pretty lil’ ass can’t cash.”

            “Whatever.”

            “I mean it, Louise. I can’t always be here to look after ya—“

            “Look after me!”

            “--an’ nobody knows yer my girl, so they don’t know not to fu—“ Whatever else he was about to say is swallowed in a gasp, as he realizes what he just said.

            His words hang in the air, they feel them, the weight of them, the importance.

            “You—you think of me as your girl?”

            Zeke sits up, forcing her to do the same. He takes her hand in his, runs his thumb along the callus on her forefinger. He can smell her sweet sugary vanilla perfume, and he closes his eyes, savoring the moment. Zeke has to be honest—he’s in too deep now to go back. “Yeah, I do. I’m probably headin’ straight to hell fer thinkin’ of ya like that, an’ I know I got no right to claim ya, but…damn, Louise, you ain’t just a friend to me, and ya ain’t just a lay, neither."

            Louise, always a day late and a dollar short emotionally, suddenly realizes that she already knows all of this—has known it for a while—and that she feels exactly the same way. Though good looking, he's not the reason faces were invented, and he’s not as smart as she is, but they’re equally tough and amoral. He’s streetwise, sexy as hell, and it just feels _right_ to be with him, he _gets_ her.

             “A limited exclusivity agreement,” she says out of nowhere.

            “Say _whut_?”

            Her voice is light, the tone is almost bored, but she’s paying an abnormal amount of attention to her jeans, picking at a fine spray of crusty mustard on the thigh. “We can’t really be together-together. So, when you’re in Seymore Bay, and we’re doing this, we’re exclusive. Secret, but exclusive. Until I find Father Time and bitch-slap him into making me a couple of years older, but that could take a while.”

            Zeke stares at her mutely. Louise wants a quasi-exclusive relationship with him? To be his occasional girlfriend?   Is that a good idea—is it just playing with fire? Is he, Mr. “Let’s Just Have Some Fun, Sugar” actually _considering_ this? His brows come together.

            “It’s just what we’ve already been doing,” she adds quickly. “Friends when you’re out of town, friends with benefits when you’re here. The difference is, when we’re friends with benefits, we agree to only, uh, _benefit_ each other, nobody else.”

 _Shit, why the hell am I second-guessin’ myself_? He muzzles the doubtful voice in his head and grins at his girl. “Alright then, baby, it’s a deal.”

            Zeke swoops in and kisses her hard. He pulls just far away enough to lightly boop her nose with his own, and rests his forehead on her’s. “So I guess all them times I imagined what it’d be like if you were with me weren’t a total waste?”

            “Let me guess; you’d get high and horny and wish you’d kidnapped me to be your sex slave.”

            Zeke tucks her hair behind her ear. “Well darlin’, that kinda roleplayin’ ain’t my thing, but I’m willin’ to experiment if it’d make you hap—ow! Ow!”

            She’s laughing as she slaps, knowing that her hits, though strong, can’t really hurt him through his thick wool coat. Zeke chuckles as he catches her wrists, kisses her knuckles and sets them onto his thigh. He plays with her fingers as he talks.

            “I thought about what it’d be like to rent an apartment with ya. You’d be in school with me, work at the bar with me. We’d come home exhausted, an’ you’d roll us a couplea joints—“

            “Slave. Called it!”

            “Lemme finish. And I’d rub yer feet, is what I was gonna say.”

            The thought of someone rubbing her feet after a long day of work elicits a small, involuntary moan from her.

            The corner of his mouth twitches. “Yeah, thought you’d like that li’l detail. I’d take ya out, to parties an’ shit, show ya off.”

            “Then at night, sex slave, right?”

            The fire that she knows so well flames in his eyes, and his smirk turns predatory. He winds his fingers in her hair at the nape and tugs, nodding with satisfaction as she moans again. He kisses her lips, a light peck, then begins kissing his way down her neck.

            “Whenever you want.” He ghosts over the delicate skin of her throat. “Whatever you want.” Light kisses this time, a tiny flick of his tongue that makes her shiver. “As much as you want.” He nips, then clamps down, making her breathlessly whisper his name.

            “That’s right, babygirl, I’d make you sing my name every fuckin’ night if you’d let me. Would you like that?”

            “Oh yes,” she sighs. Some people might laugh at his vision of domestic bliss, but it sounds like a slice of heaven to her. “We’ve only been gone 15 minutes or s-so, right?”

            He detaches his lips and checks the clock on the antique DVD player. “Yeah, thereabouts. Why?”

            Louise rises to her feet. “We can easily be gone another fifteen-twenty minutes before anyone misses us.”

            “Here? At yer _parent’s_ place?”

            She laughs, she can’t help it—he sounds so scandalized. “You said whenever, whatever, as much as I want.”

           She takes his hands and tugs him off the couch. “I want it now, on my bed, at least once today.”

           Zeke’s a simple guy; when his girl pulls him towards her bedroom for sex, he doesn’t resist.

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

           Louise, naked from the waist down, is collapsed on her side, panting, feet hanging off the edge of her twin mattress. Her inner thighs are slick, and she’s sure she’s going to have little bruises all over her hips from where he gripped her, souvenirs of some of the best sex they’ve had.

            She brushes sweat-dampened hair out of her eyes and smiles dreamily at Zeke. He’s leaning back on shaking elbows, blinking hard, his jeans and boxers still pooled around his ankles. He turns to her and returns her smile.

            “Got any tissues?”

            “Uh yeah, on my nightstand. Nice mood breaker, by the way.”

            Louise watches him pull several tissues and wrap them around something in his hand. _Oh, the condom_.

            “Just toss it in the trashcan.”

            “Babygirl, that’s just beggin’ yer parents to find it. I’ll stick it in Mort’s dumpster.”

              “Phrasing!”

              It takes Zeke a minute to figure out why she’s laughing. “ _Ohhhh_. Don’t worry, honey; I don’t want to stick nuttin’ in anyone’s dumpster but yers.”

            “I told you, no butt stuff,” she says, pulling a face.

            Zeke holds up his free hand in surrender. “I know, fine by me.” He doesn’t mind; he’s tried it before, and doesn’t get the appeal. “We should get going. Go git yerself cleaned up."

            Louise stands with a groan, her knees slightly wobbly. She cracks her neck, and begins searching for her underwear and jeans. Zeke smiles to himself, his head tilted, as he watches her bend and twist to find her clothes.   She told him that she’s been focusing on her lower body for the past few months, and her work has paid off; her bottom, already peachy, is now truly a thing of glory. He can’t resist reaching out and giving a cheek a playful smack.

            Louise starts, turns to look at him with a blush. Hurriedly, she pulls on her lacy black panties. Damn, he loves Louise’s little feminine quirks; the pretty underwear, the sweet perfume, her embarrassment at being caught naked. Mentally cursing the time, Zeke stands and pulls up his boxers and jeans.

           She makes for the door. “Give me five, I’ll be ready. And, you know, sorry. About earlier. Doubting you missed me. I—I didn’t realize it was a touchy subject.”

            He takes her hands in his. “You gotta understand, babygirl, sex with you is...it’s…” Zeke shrugs, frustrated by his own verbal inadequacy. He’s had more hot women than he’s had hot dinners, but sex with them was nothing like sex with Louise, that’s on another level. Special doesn’t cover it, sacred sounds corny as hell.

            Louise nods, and he knows she feels the same way.           

           

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

            Bob glances up as Louise and Zeke enter the kitchen. Forty minutes, not bad; Louise is notoriously difficult to talk down from the ledge. She’s smiling as she hangs up her coat.

            “You kids figure everything out?”

            “Oh my God, Dad.” Louise rolls her eyes, laughing as she teases him. “I know everyone under like, fifty, looks like a kid to you, but come on!”

            “Everything’s fine, Mr. B.”

            “Yeah, Zeke was being a douche. I straightened him out.”

            Bob frowns at her. “Louise…” But Zeke is laughing and shaking his head, so Bob lets it go. He doesn’t know what the problem was, but he and Linda decided long ago that, with three children born in four years and a business to run, they just can’t intervene in every little problem, a policy that’s served them well as the kids tumble into their teens.

            He smiles a little as Louise compliments Tina on her red lipstick. Louise has been moody with Tina for days, so it’s good to see the girls get along again. Tina blinks at her little sister, surprised, but takes the compliment.

            “Thanks, Zeke, you’re a good influence on her,” Bob says quietly to the younger man, who, having tied on his apron, is now washing his hands and preparing to go back to work.

            Zeke turns pink. “Ain’t no problem, Mr. B.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea for Cynthia Bush's cancer was inspired by two different sources. As usual, I can't write "Bob's" fanfiction without "Archer" references. Fans of the show will recognize that I lifted several lines from "Stage Two," the one where Sterling had cancer. The second part was from an old Carolyn Hax advice column. Hax is an advice columnist for The Washington Post, and her articles are syndicated in many papers in the U.S., covering all sorts of relationships--family, friends, dating, and so on. Anyway, I can't find a link right now, but years ago she answered a letter from someone who found out that a disliked member of her friend group has cancer. "What do you do with the jerk who has cancer?" became short-hand for a lot of character-defining choices.


	10. NINE

            “Okay, Tina, how about this one?”

            Tina, sitting on Gene’s bed and enjoying a cherry flavored cannabis sucker—a surprise gift from Louise—leans back and contemplates her brother. He’s kept the long hair, but at least he’s shaved. Grey satin shirt tucked into black jeans. Silver-toned skull belt buckle. Small silver earrings. Black cowboy boots. Tina thinks he looks a bit like a 1970’s gigolo—all he needs are the chains and rings on each finger—but Gene exudes so much confidence she can’t fault him. Confidence is key, and if Michael can deal with Gene’s long hair, then who is she to say?

            “I like the hoops especially,” she says tactfully. He smiles with relief, and she applauds herself for not sticking her foot in her mouth like she has done pretty consistently since arriving back home. “It offsets the hair,” she adds, undercutting her previous statement.

            “Give it a rest, T,” Gene groans.

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

            Bob calls a quick family meeting in the restaurant kitchen before Gene makes it downstairs.

            “Okay everyone,” he says. “I know we’re all curious about this Michael—“

            “Not me!” Louise chirps. “I met him at the Center.”

            “But Bobby—“

            “No buts, Lin,” Bob frowns at his wife. “This date is really important to Gene. We all want to meet him, but let’s not scare the kid. Just act normal..or, uh, as normal as this family can.”

            “Belcher family normal, got it,” Louise crosses her eyes and sticks out her tongue.

            Bob holds out his hand. “Okay, Belcher normal on the count of three! Hands in, everyone!”

            Louise and Linda stack their hands on his.

            “One-two-three--!”

            “Belcher normal!” the family cries.

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

            Gene comes downstairs ten minutes before Michael’s due to arrive and mans the register so his mother and sister can serve customers. Bob and Zeke manage the kitchen with an economy of movement and words that suits both men. Gene notices that someone has roped off the back corner booth with leftover Christmas tinsel and a “reserved” sign. He allows himself a small smile, but the butterflies in his stomach start fluttering about again, going frantic at the sight at every passerby, every new customer.

           Finally, the door chimes ring, and Michael, looking quite dapper in his olive green coat, enters the building. His eyes meet Gene’s, and the men share a slow smile.

            “Hi, Michael.”

            “Hi, Gene.”

            Gene takes Michael’s coat and escorts him over to the booth. Michael grins at the sign and tinsel. “I feel so VIP.”

            “It’s my mother, I think. Mom, just come over and say hi already!”

            Linda, who was serving customers at the counter and very pointedly not looking at the young men, smiles with relief and rushes over. “Hi Michael, I’m Linda!”

            “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Belcher.” Michael shakes her hand.

            “Mrs. Belcher! So polite! We’ve heard so much about you. And Miss Case, of course.”

            “Mom!”

            “Well, it’s not every day we get a theatre star in here.”

            Gene gestures to himself. “Uh, hello!”

            “Order up, girl!” Zeke shouts from the kitchen window.          

            “Hi, Michael!” Louise waves as she begins loading dishes onto a serving tray.

            He returns the wave. “Hi, Badass Sister.”

            “Mom, could you please just take their order already? I need your help over here.”

            Linda makes a disgruntled sound but complies, taking their request for two double cheeseburgers, fries, and Cokes. She discusses the order loudly and in detail with Zeke, who politely nods as she over-explains the obvious in a stage whisper that carries over the entire restaurant. “I just want it to be perfect for my Gene’s date!”

            Gene groans, his face crimson. “ _Sorry_ ,” he mouths.

            But Michael’s green eyes sparkle with suppressed laughter. “Your mother is a hoot.”

            Bob pops his head out the swinging door to the kitchen. “Hi, Michael. I’m Bob.”

            “Hi, Mr. Belcher. We’ll talk later, I understand.”

            Louise drops off their Cokes and a couple of straws. “I’ll tell Zeke to hurry it up.” She turns and shouts, “Hey Zeke, hurry up table one’s order, already!”

            Zeke looks out the window. “I’m cookin’, girl, I’m cookin’—hold yer horses!”

            Louise is already off on drink refill duty for a family of four on the other side of the restaurant. Michael glances from her to Zeke, and turns to Gene, raising his brows. Gene nods and shudders.

            “I _love_ your family,” Michael says, tearing open his straw wrapper.

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

            Tina has the night off work, and, having decided that she’s irritated her brother and embarrassed herself enough for one night, decides to take a walk. Where, she doesn’t know. Wonder Warf is out, since Gene’s going there on his date, and it would be weird if she shows up. The beach is too cold. She, like her siblings, is permanently banned from Family Funtime thanks to the dune buggy incident. The mall is bound to be insane this close to Christmas, and since she doesn’t want to risk maneuvering through a sleet-filled Chicago winter on crutches, she decides against the roller rink.

            Up in her room, she fixes her lipstick, powders her t-zone, and tries to smile at herself in the mirror. Instead of spending the night engaged in pleasant flirtation with Zeke, maybe even going back to his place after the restaurant closes, she’s preparing to walk around aimlessly by herself, and she doesn’t understand it.

            Tina’s not emotionally invested enough to be hurt, but she’s definitely confused. He sure seemed receptive enough to her flirtation—he smiled back, complimented her, even laughed at her jokes. But then she started to ask him out, and things got…weird. Tina wonders what kind of girl he’s dating, and why he’s clearly uncomfortable talking about her. Even Louise and Gene don’t know anything about Zeke’s mystery girl, which is odd, because Tina was under the impression that the three were pretty close.

             Tina shrugs into her coat and locks the apartment behind her. _I’ll just follow my feet_ , she thinks to herself. _It’ll be an adventure_.

             Unfortunately for Tina, her feet have no sense of adventure, and before she knows it she’s standing in the vestibule of Jimmy Pesto’s Pizzeria. The Pesto place is darker than her parent’s restaurant, ostensibly for ambiance, but Tina thinks it’s really to help disguise the cheapness of the generic “Italian” décor.

_Mr. Pesto isn’t an artist like Our Heroine’s father, he needs to pull out all the bells and whistles he can to distract customers from the relentless mediocrity of his food. She casts the customers a slightly contemptuous glance; they wouldn’t know good food if Julia Child herself set it in front of them._

             “Hi, Tina!” calls a chipper voice from one of the tables.

            “Long time no see!” echoes a similar voice from the bar.

             Tina blinks in astonishment. Louise said

the Pesto twins were now on the football team, and at the time Tina just assumed they were water boys or towel wranglers or something. She never suspected that the blond, gangling twins she last saw two years ago would transform into the buff hunks smiling identical, slightly goofy smiles at her.

             “Hi, Andy,” she says, observing that his bangs still swing in his grey eyes. “Hi, Ollie,” Tina nods, blushing slightly at the sight of his biceps bulging as he gently sets a heaping bus tub down on the table. _Down girl, he’s sixteen._

             “Is Louise with you?” Ollie asks as he envelops her in a hug.

             “No, it’s just me. I thought I’d come over and say hi. So…hi.”

             “Hi!” Andy pulls her out of Ollie’s arms and claims his own hug. “I’ll get Jimmy for you!”

              “No, I—“

             But it’s too late, Andy’s at the swinging kitchen door. “Jimmy! Tina’s here to see you.”

             Tina groans under her breath. Ollie casts her a sympathetic look.

             Jimmy, she notices, hasn’t changed as much as his younger brothers, which makes sense, given their ages. Still, she can’t help but to admire the view. Strawberry blond hair cut short, his blemish-free skin glowing with health, the good-looking boy has transformed into a very handsome man. Memories, not all of which are unpleasant, flood back at the sight of his bright smile, his honey brown eyes twinkling in genuine pleasure at the sight of her.

             “Hi, Tina.”

            “Hi, Jimmy Junior. I just came over to say hi.”

             “Hi.”

              He makes as if to hug her, but thinks better of it at the last second, and steps back. Tina wishes he would have followed through, it would have been less awkward that way.

              “I’m taking my break,” he says to Ollie. Jimmy then turns to Tina. “Wanna Coke?”

 

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

            Tina takes a sip from her straw. Diet Coke, light ice, two maraschino cherries. He remembered. Teenage Tina would have taken this as a great cosmic sign that they were meant to be. Adult Tina, who’s listened to Jimmy Jr. drone on about busking in 90 degree heat in the morning, auditioning for backup dancer rolls in the afternoon, and rounding out the day as an evening waiter, is astonished that someone this self-absorbed even remembered her name, much less her favorite drink.

            “Sorry, I’ve been hogging the conversation,” he finally says, blushing slightly. Tina is surprised to hear a touch of his old lisp in his words, a lisp she hasn’t heard since their freshman year of high school.

            “We have a lot to catch up on,” she says, mentally patting herself on the back for her diplomacy.

            “So…”

            “Yeah?”

            “How about you? What have you been doing?”

            “Oh yeah, right.” Tina thinks for a second, shifting through information. She can’t mention selling edibles, and it’s probably best if she keeps the part about working at Hooters to herself, too. “Well, I’m in Chicago working on my undergrad, looking into grad sch—“

            “I know,” he cuts in. “Your mom told me all about that a few days ago. I’m asking about the non-parental version.”

            His smile is so charming that Tina’s irritation at being interrupted evaporates. “Well, I’m working on my book, and I’m a waitress.”

            “Where?”

            “Sal’s, it’s a little local pizzeria.” She waves her hand dismissively. Tina doesn’t want to mention a chain, like Applebee’s, because he might ask too many detailed questions.

            Jimmy makes a face. “Chicago deep-dish."

            “I like Chicago deep-dish,” Andy protests.

            Tina and Jimmy turn to stare at Andy, who is wiping down the booth right next to them, watching the two as attentively as if they were his favorite TV show. Ollie is a few booths away diligently sweeping with his back to them, obviously trying to pretend that he wasn’t eavesdropping.

            Jimmy Junior glares at his little brothers. “Let’s go for a walk, Tina.”

 

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

 

            They walk along Ocean Avenue, admiring the strings of Christmas lights and swags of garland swooping from the streetlights. Their hands swing within inches of each other, but don’t touch.  Tina, who finally mastered the art of coordinating the swing of her arms with that of her feet a few years ago, is astonished she has to remind herself to do it now.  Tina’s not sure which is weirder; being so close to Jimmy Junior and not trying to hold his hand, or the fact that she honestly has no desire to do so.

            “How’s Trenton?” Tina finally asks, more to break the silence than out of interest.

            “Cold,” Jimmy says shortly. “Very cold.”

            “Well yes, it’s not far away, they’re hit with the same weather we—“

            Jimmy sighs. “I meant metaphorically Tina, jeez.”

            “Since we’re walking outside in the cold, I thought you meant meteorologically, not metaphorically.” She’s not sure how she was supposed to know otherwise.

            He runs a hand through his hair. “I just thought I’d be on Broadway by now.”

            A flash of irritation rockets through her. Early in their senior year, Jimmy foolishly told his father that he wasn’t going to college, he was going to go directly to the state capital, then Broadway, because as an artist there’s nothing school could teach him anyway. This gave Mr. Pesto almost a full year to work on Jimmy Junior, and he recruited a malleable Tina to back him up when she and his son were dating. Tina, who adored Jimmy Junior, but was not blind to his faults, thought there was plenty school could teach him, such as technique, and discipline.

            Jimmy spots her frown, and has the good grace to blush. “Anyway, I decided to come home for the holiday.”

           “Yeah. Me too.”

           They walk in silence for a few minutes. They pause at Reflections. Lots of holiday-themed quilts, a few paintings, even a sculpture of Santa are illuminated by strings of multi-colored lights.

           Jimmy nudges a bit of slush with the toe of his boot. “Have you noticed how you kind of…I just feel like a kid again when I come home, and not in a good way.”

          “Yeah,” Tina sighs.

          “I haven’t lisped like this since high school.”

          “I—I hardly…noticed.”

          “Yes you did,” Jimmy sighs.

           “Okay, maybe a little.”

           He stares at her for a long moment. Tina reaches up to touch her nose. “Do I have something on my face?”

           Jimmy smiles. “No, Tina. I just forgot how pretty you are.”

           Tina blinks at him. “Really?”

           He cups her cheek in his hand and kisses her. Her mind continues to lag behind, overwhelmed by memories, but her lips respond instantly. Familiarity. Time doesn’t stand still, it spins backwards, and she’s a high school senior with her boyfriend, kissing him under the streetlights.

 

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

             Louise faceplants into her pillow. This is the last time she antagonizes her competing parents, swear to God. Next time they get into one of their pissing contests, she’s staying well out of the splash-zone. Louise spent an extra three hours in the restaurant kitchen today, mincing and caramelizing onions, prepping marinades, and other details for the party. It’s time she doesn’t really have; Louise prides herself on making her good grades look easy, natural, like they just fall into her lap, but the fact of the matter is that Louise Belcher spends a lot of private time on her school work. She knows next semester is going to be pretty intense, since she’s testing to take college credit classes her senior year.  Prior to break, she wheedled her teachers into giving her some insight into what she needs to study to give herself a head start in her upcoming classic.  She even bought a subscription to ACT's website so she could better study for the test.  Louise knows she’s going to have to bust her butt to finish the work she assigned herself.

             Louise sits up and flexes her feet, remembering Zeke’s promise of foot rubs, and sighs. She can’t be eighteen soon enough. She frowns, massaging her own arches, and thinks longingly of the independent life she could lead right now if only she were just a tiny bit older, finished with school and living life on her own terms.

             Louise has always longed to have her own place, one near her family, but still her own domain. The details have changed over the years; when she was nine, it was just her future base for world domination where she could eat all the Sticky Sugar Booms she wanted. As a teen, she’s decorated it; lots of Kuchi Kopi and skulls, and a big bong as a centerpiece on the coffee table. Now, more often than not, she’s finding it populated with someone else.  Zeke, rubbing her feet. Getting totally squanchy together, rattling away the day’s stress on their bed. He’d be her’s, full-time. Her guy. They’d kiss on the boardwalk, hold hands in the grocery store, and there’d be fuck-all anyone could say about it.

             Louise sits up on her bed and opens her nightstand drawer. She took shop instead of home economics in eighth grade, and while other kids were struggling with birdhouses, Louise built her own, simple nightstand, complete with hidden drawer. She reaches in and pulls out a small white envelope and red velvety box.

             She smiles to herself, rubbing the little box with her thumb. She found it, along with the envelope, under her pillow last night.

             Normally Louise ignores cards unless she thinks they contain money, and this little square envelope obviously isn’t that sort. She opens it and takes out the small card she’s read a dozen times by now.

_Something pretty for my pretty girl._

_Yours,_

_Z_

            He must have had it in his coat pocket, and hid it when she was in the bathroom trying to wash off the smell of Zeke’s cologne and sex. _Excellent_ sex. Louise bites her lip. She initiated, but Zeke swiftly took control, and before she knew it Louise was on all fours on her narrow little bed, face to the mattress, ass high in the air, being ruthlessly plowed from behind, and she reveled every second of it. She runs a hand along the blanket, right where he bent her over, and sighs.

             Louise opens the red box. Gold hoop earrings, the laser-cut designs catching the light, twinkle at her. Accustomed to discount store jewelry—Target is a particular favorite—they look incredibly expensive to her, perhaps more so because they’re 14 karat gold, and Louise typically prefers silver-tone. Prior to this, her costliest piece of jewelry was the sterling silver bunny pendant her father bought her for her 13th birthday. These are definitely grownup earrings. From Zeke.

_Yours._

_Her_ Zeke.

             She slips them into her ears and looks in the mirror. Shakes her head to make the hoops flash and dance, trying to get used to their sophistication.  Louise never thought she’d like gold jewelry, but these are perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not entirely sure, but I think this story will be 13 chapters long. I should have a better idea next week.


	11. TEN

          “Wow.”

 

           Gene stands next to Michael at the entrance of Wonder Warf, seeing it through his date’s eyes. Mr. Fischoeder invested a fair amount of money in the place in recent years as the Bog Harbor area grew. The rides are more up-to-date, the whole place is cleaner, brighter, even at night. Besides the streetlights, the rides, especially the Ferris wheel, are illuminated with multi-colored lights the entire year, and during December, all the buildings are outlined in Christmas lights. Mickey came in the other night for dinner after work, and told them that it took a crew of seven almost a week to light up the place to Mr. Fischoeder’s satisfaction.

 

         “Want some hot chocolate?”

 

          “I’d love it.”

 

         Gene gathers his courage and takes Michael’s hand in his, leading the way past the jugglers, artists, and roving carolers.

 

         “Is—is this okay?” Michael leans in and whispers, glancing at their clasped hands.

 

          Mortified, Gene drops his hand. “Sorry! I—“

 

          “No, I mean...” Michael stops, lead him off the path, out of the way of the crowds. They stand near Sally the Snowcone Lady, currently Sally the Sugared Nuts Lady.

 

         Michael glances nervously around them. “I mean, is it…is it safe here for guys like us? You know, to hold hands?”

 

         Gene blinks, then he gets it. “Oh yeah, this town is pretty liberal, we have a huge LGBTQ community.”

 

         Michael smiles and takes Gene’s hand. “I’ve noticed.”

 

         They walk along a little farther. Gene can feel the warmth, the electricity between himself and Michael sing through their clasped palms. Holding hands has never felt so good. A few heads turn to watch them as they pass, none of them disapproving, but a few look surprised. Nobody could be more surprised than Gene Belcher to find himself walking the boardwalk with such a handsome man at his side.

 

         "I mean, it's not like I haven't heard comments," Gene adds, "But I kind of forget sometimes, you know?"

 

         "I sometimes forget too."  Michael's voice is as dry and brittle as old newspaper.  "Fortunately for me, I have a family to remind me I'm a freak."

   

        "Gosh, I--I'm sorry, that sucks."

     

        "Let's just say my coming out wasn't pretty.  It's not too bad now; Dad ignores the fact that I'm gay, mom has decided she can hate the sin but love the sinner, but most of my sisters are fine with it."

       

         Gene opens his mouth to ask, but is interupted by a bright-eyed blonde wearing a purple coat who bounces up and engulfs him in a hug. She steps back and grins.

 

         “Oh my God! Gene!”

 

          “Hi, Courtney.”

 

          She sticks out a hand to Michael. “I’m Courtney Wheeler.”

 

          “Michael Miller.”

 

         “Rupa said she saw you with a guy,” Courtney tells Gene, gesturing vaguely behind her. A girl with long black hair waves at him. He waves back.

 

         “Well, I don’t want to interrupt your date,” she says, twisting her pinky ring, a far less annoying habit than slurping on her necklace. “You treat our Gene right, okay?”

 

         “My pleasure.”

 

         Courtney runs off to join Rupa, no doubt to gossip. Gene watches her go, shaking his head.

 

         “An old girlfriend?”

 

          “Yeah,” Gene says as they join the snaking line to get hot chocolate. “We dated on and off for a long time. She’s a good friend.”

 

          “You were dating her and some Lenny guy too, weren’t you?”

 

          “How did you—“

 

         “I have my sources,” Michael says, striking a mysterious air.

 

         “Louise.”

 

         “Your sister loves to talk.”

 

        Gene sighs. “About everyone else’s life, sure.”

 

        “Oh?”

 

       “Nothing. Just sister drama.”

 

      Michael laughs as they shuffle forward. “Oh honey, tell me about it. Seven sisters here, remember?”

 

       “Dear God man, how did you survive?”

 

        Gene watches as Michael’s posture changes, feminizes. “I figured,” he said in his Justine Case voice, “if I couldn’t beat ‘em, I’d join ‘em.”

 

         The men share a laugh.

 

         “I told you it was her!” exclaims a familiar voice behind him.

 

        "You told us you _thought_ it was her."

 

        Gene turns to see Glitter, Cha-Cha, and Marbles grinning at Michael, squealing like fangirls.

 

         “Hi, ladies.”

 

         “Hi, Gene!” They respond in unison.

 

       Gene does the introductions. “Ladies, this is Michael—“

 

       “Miss Justine Case!” Glitter squeals. “I saw you in Seattle last spring.”

 

       “Oh God, the Seattle show,” Michael rolls his eyes. “I wish I had Gene here for my lighting instead of Rerun.”

 

        Michael and Glitter share a laugh, remembering the hapless lighting tech and the nickname that stuck for the entirety of Justine Case’s engagement. Gene notices that his date has not gone into Miss Case mode, but he’s no longer just Michael Miller; this is Michael’s fan face. His gestures are bigger, his voice more effeminate than normal, he’s overall more flamboyantly, stereotypically gay than usual. It’s interesting to watch; Gene isn’t even sure it's a conscious choice on Michael’s part.

 

       The five chat away, to and over each other, as they shuffle their way to the front of the line, but part ways after everyone gets their hot chocolate.

 

        “A girl’s gotta walk this off,” Glitter says. “A moment on the hips!”

 

        “I know, right?” Cha-Cha eye’s Glitter’s tight dress.

 

       Glitter laughs at her as the threesome teeter away on their stilettos.

 

        “Ferris wheel?” Gene asks, turning to Michael.

 

        “Sure.”

 

        This line is much shorter. Gene and Michael are seated almost immediately, but the ride doesn’t start for another five minutes. They climb skyward a bit at a time, as the operator seats more people in the other cars.

 

        “You’re right, this is a really accepting community,” Michael says. “I think I saw a couple of people side-eye us, but that’s it. It wasn’t like that in my hometown. I mean, it wasn’t a beating a day or anything, but there were very few of us, and I wouldn’t dare hold your hand in public.”

 

        “I think they were more surprised to see you with someone like me than anything else.”

 

         “I’m _lucky_ to be with someone like you,” Michael says softly.

 

         His face burning crimson, Gene looks over the side of the car. They’re about halfway up. “I mean, you’re so _you_ and—“

 

         “Hey,” Michael says softly, “I like you. My only concern is our age difference.”

 

          Gene looks over with raised eyebrows. Michael runs a hand over his thinning hair. “I’m twenty-eight, you’re not even twenty. It’s a lot. What do you want with an old man like me?”

 

          “Everything,” Gene sighs, reaching out to stroke Michael’s cool cheek. The car jerks, the gears grind as their car slowly rises to the pinnacle of the ride. Their noses bump together, their lips find each other, and, for a brief moment, all is bliss in Gene’s world.

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

            Tina sits cross-legged at the family coffee table, surrounded by scraps of paper and glitter glue pens, drinking wine and cutting out snowflakes with her mother. Already the living room looks like a “Winter Wonderland,” as Linda enthusiastically calls it. Privately, Tina thinks it looks like a grade school classroom, but she’s not going to sleet on her mother’s parade. The family’s second tree of the season, glowing with lights and covered with ornaments, takes pride of place in the big bay window. Mother and daughter have strung up lights and swags of tinsel everywhere possible, and Linda added green and red cushions to the throne she rented and set up next to the tree.

 

            “Because you never know who will show up to a Christmas party,” she sang over her husband’s protests.

 

            Linda counts the snowflakes they’ve already cut out. “Okay, we have thirty. That should take care of the living room. We need more for the stairwell, the hall, and kitchen. I think another fifty should do it.”

 

            Tina sighs deeply, watching her mother as she begins to glitter up the pile of paper snowflakes.

 

            “Aw, what’s the matter, Tina, don’t you want to help Mommy?” Linda holds up the box of red wine. “I have plenty more liquid encouragement,” she adds with a laugh.

 

            Tina shakes her head. She’s glad her parents let her drink, so long as she’s not leaving the house. It’s been an odd evening.

 

            “It’s not that,” Tina says. Even though she knows Gene is on his date, and her father and sister are in the restaurant preparing their own delicious army for the upcoming Battle of the Buffets, she still looks around, to make sure she won’t be overheard. Linda, knowing the gesture means her daughter is about to dish, leans forward, eager for the gossip.

 

            “It’s weird being home.”

 

            “Why? What’s wrong with being home?”

 

            Tina frowns, already regretting opening up to her mother. “Not wrong, just…weird. Everything’s changed, but it’s also the same.”

 

            Linda drains her glass and pours more. Tina holds out her own goblet for a refill. Linda, mentally noting that this will be her daughter’s third glass, does so, but not as generously as she did her own.

 

            “I don’t know, Tina. I think you’re the one who changed.”

 

            “Me? I haven’t changed in essentials, only externals.”

 

            “What?”

 

            “I look different on the outside, but I’m still just Tina on the inside.”

 

            Linda nods. “You really have grown up, I mean, look at you! So slim, and your makeup—you look beautiful, Tina. Just beautiful.”

 

            Tina frowns at her thighs.  No matter how much she exercises, her thighs, though firm, are too short and too thick.  She thinks enviously of Louise's long, slim legs.  “It just feels kind of… _Twilight Zone_ or maybe _Star Trek_. But not the erotic kind.”

 

            “I know.”

 

            “Because I wouldn’t want you to think—“

 

            “Sure, honey.”

 

            “And, and that would be awkward.”

 

            “Tina, I get it!”

 

            “See? It’s stuff like that!” Tina tosses her scissors on the floor. They bounce and imbed themselves point-first into the carpet. “I’m okay.”

 

            “Careful, Tina!”

 

            Tina unsticks her scissors. “It’s stuff like this, Mom. The person I am at school doesn’t shove her foot in her mouth all the time. But I’m here, and…and I transform into old Tina. Awkward. Clumsy. Weird, not quirky. But that’s not who I am anymore.”

 

            “It’s not unusual to regress around your parents, honey.” Linda smiles at her daughter’s raised eyebrows. “Every time your grandparents came over I went into a cleaning frenzy, remember?”

 

            “Yeah, I do.”

 

            Tina smiles, remembering how her father compared it to animals freaking out before a storm. Grandpa Al died years ago of a stroke, but Grandma Gloria continued clearing her thick throat for years until she finally keeled over in mid-complaint, as if Death itself didn’t have the nerve to approach her head-on, and so resorted to a sneak attack.

           

            “Every time, I felt like I was ten and about to be grounded because my room was a mess. Every. Time.”

 

            “So what did you do?”

 

            Linda continues gluing. “I pretended like I was time-traveling. Like on TV.”

 

            “So, you didn’t…you didn’t fight it or—“

 

            “Old habits die hard.”

 

            Tina sighs, thinking of how familiar Jimmy Junior’s lips felt, how their mouths instantly found the old rhythm. It was a homecoming, of a sort.  “Yeah. Um, you won’t be mad if I cut out early? I have a lot to think about.”

 

            “Sure, honey. Sure.” Linda’s smile is gentle and understanding.

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

           

            Gene’s always hated sleepovers. Even adult sleepovers, at Lenny’s or Courtney’s, were rare, dreaded things, and the promise of sex did nothing to lessen his anxiety. But this morning, he wakes up in a strange room, on a strange bed, with Michael curled up in his arms and the air heavy with the smell of sex, and he feels...fine.  Better than fine.  He kisses the older man’s head and cuddles him close.

 

            Michael awakens with a soft mewl, lifts his head enough to smile and blink sleepily at Gene. “Hey.”

 

            “Hey.”

 

            Michael drops his head back onto Gene’s shoulder. “This is nice.”

 

            “Yeah.” Gene draws light circles on Michael’s arm, his mouth tugged up in a small smile. “I don’t, uh, usually—you know, on a first date.”

 

            Michael chuckles, running his hand over Gene’s soft chest hair. “I don’t either, but who cares? We did, and I don’t regret it. Do you?”

 

            “God no!”

 

            “Good.”

 

            Gene tries to simply lie back and enjoy the feel of Michael’s hand stroking his chest, the promise of the other man’s erection poking his thigh, but he just can’t be entirely in the moment.

 

            Michael senses the tension in his body. He rolls onto his side, out of Gene’s arms, and Gene is surprised by the loss he feels by that small separation. Michael props his head up on his hand.

 

            “Come on, talk to me.”

 

            Gene bites his lip. He wipes the sleep from his eyes and turns to Michael. Michael has beautiful collarbones, he can’t stop staring at them. “I…I really like you.”

 

            Michael reaches over and plays with a long strand of Gene’s hair. “I really like you too.”

 

            Chocolate brown eyes meet soulful green, and Gene relaxes a bit. “So this…I was, I was wondering what…”

 

            “What this means?”

 

            “Uh-huh.”

 

            “I don’t know,” Michael says, and Gene is grateful for the honesty. “Let’s just play it by ear. I’d like to continue to see you,” he adds, taking Gene’s hand in his, bringing it to his lips. “Get to know you even better.”

 

            Michael lowers his eyes, his sleep-flushed face making Gene’s heart race with its beauty. The older man runs his tongue up the length of Gene’s index finger.

 

            “Get to know you more…intimately…”

 

            It’s everything Gene could have hoped for.

 


	12. ELEVEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last two chapters are going to be long. Go grab a snack; I'll wait...

             Tina contemplates herself in the long mirror propped up against the metal wardrobe in her tiny closet room. Runs her hands along her hips, impressed by their smoothness. Yes, the Spanx was a good idea; you can’t be fat and be a Hooters girl, as Tina repeatedly reminds herself, but she still has too much wobble in the wubba-wubba for her own comfort, and the close cut of the skirt does nothing to camouflage any bumps or lumps on her lower body.

 

            She originally intended to buy a blood-red 1950s swing dress, classically styled with a sweetheart neckline, wide sash to emphasize her small waist, and a full, flared skirt that disguised any number of late-night ice cream binges. But Nick insisted that she be adventurous, try something new. The dress they chose is a deep, blue-toned red, Tina’s favorite red, and it was easy for her to match her lipstick, as Tina is something of a lipstick hoarder. She likes the boat neckline, certain that the horizontal line brings more focus to her face and helps balance out her hips. She turns to look at herself at all angles. The seams emphasize her waist and hug her curves, giving her a definite va-va-voom, but the length is quite modest, almost knee-length. She hopes Jimmy Junior likes it.

 

            Tina pushes her straightened hair over her shoulder and slips her feet into peep-toed suede pumps of such a dark olive they almost look black. She can hear her parents arguing in the living room. Not a surprise; they’ve bickered almost non-stop for the past 48 hours.

 

            “Just set up over there, across from Santa’s chair.”

 

            The thump of feet, strange voices, muttered and indistinct.

 

            “A photographer, Lin? Really?”

 

            “Like you can have Santa without pictures!”

 

            The doorbell chimes. “Oh!” Linda sings, “That must be the elves!”

 

            _Our Heroine smiles gamely at herself in the mirror. Her mom and dad are having a bad time of it, but she looks good and she knows it. Time for the charm bomb to explode._

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

 

            Logan Barry Bush stands under the streetlamp outside the Belcher place, hands stuffed in the pockets of his grey coat. He idly watches his breath escape him in plumes; God, he could use a cigarette. Logan started socially smoking in high school, loving the way it pissed off his parents, and was astonished to discover that he was up to almost a pack a day by the time he finally dropped out of the university upstate and signed up for EMT training instead. Tired of the expense, worried about how it might affect his job, and still wheezing from his second bout of pneumonia in eight months, he went cold turkey. He hasn’t had even a puff since, but that doesn’t stop the cravings, especially when he’s nervous or stressed.

 

_This is stupid. Shit or get off the pot, Bush._

 

           He can hear the muted sounds of raucous laughter and music upstairs; it really does sound like everyone is having fun. That’s a good sign. He rings the bell twice.

 

            “Come in!” shouts the party in unison.

 

            So Logan does.

 

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

 

            Zeke, leaning against the wall next to the TV, takes in the chaos around him, a cup of Mrs. B’s undrinkable punch in his hand. Mr. and Mrs. B decided to leave mingling to their children, opting instead to hover over their respective tables and cajole their guests to choose a favorite spread. Zeke wisely opted out of the game by refusing to eat anything at all.

 

            “Nah, Mrs. B, I’ll just take some punch. Gotta watch my figure,” he added with a wink, and Mrs. Belcher was as charmed as he meant her to be. He wonders if he can wheedle Louise into snagging a couple of bacon-wrapped, pistachio-stuffed dates from Mr. B’s table for him. Maybe a cookie from Mrs. B’s side too; they’re those shortbread cookies thickly spread with a hard shell of icing, the type Grandma June sideyed at church potlucks, but little Zeke, if left to his own devices, would eat until he was sick. Besides the nostalgia, surely they’d help rid the taste of the punch from his mouth. Powdered punch drink, peach schnapps, and Crème de menthe…it’s so aggressively, unapologetically terrible he’s honestly a bit impressed.

 

           “Teddy Claus,” his Santa suit a bit tight over his belly, has Sidecar on his lap. The photographer and two very bored-looking college students hired to play elves try to prod the boy into smiling. Zeke catches the kid’s eye and grins. Sidecar returns it, and the photographer snaps the picture.

 

           Sidecar hops down and starts to make his way to Zeke, when he spots Louise walking towards him, holding a plate of nibbles to hand out to guests. Sidecar instantly turns red and flees in the opposite direction, hiding behind Jackie and Jane. Louise turns to Zeke, her brows raised. He shrugs, feigning ignorance.

 

          Teaching the kid that there are other words than “pussy” for female genitalia was far easier than explaining basic biological facts. Sidecar, whose sex ed was provided mostly by the Internet, was convinced that once he hit puberty, and his voice deepened and he grew down-there hair, his pee would thicken and turn white. Zeke still isn’t sure the kid entirely believes him. He hopes the boy stops blushing and running every time he sees Louise before school starts up again, or their tutoring sessions are going to be awkward.

 

          Zeke can’t resist catching Louise’s eye and giving her a smoldering once-over. She turns a touch pink and bites her lip. Gretchen, slightly drunk and wearing a distressingly low-cut burgundy dress, toddles over to Louise.

 

         “You have those cranberry toast things!” Gretchen’s stage whisper carries over to Zeke. “I can’t eat any more little smokies. Never thought I’d say that!”

 

         Louise politely laughs along as Gretchen piles three of the crostinis spread thick with whipped ricotta and sprinkled with cranberries on her paper plate.

 

        Yes, the punch is terrible, he’ll have to be a secret eater if he wants a snack, and the radio is loudly playing different versions of the same ten Christmas songs, but there’s nowhere else Zeke would rather be. Mr. and Mrs. B’s competitions are fun to watch, so long as he stays well out of it, and of course there’s Louise, impossibly tall with her ponytail teased high and her long legs sheathed in those damn fuck-me boots of hers.  

 

          “Louise!” calls Linda over the noise. She waves Louise over to her table, and begins to admonish her daughter. Louise’s gestures are equally wild. Zeke can’t hear them over a particularly loud rendition of “All I Want for Christmas is You,” with Cha-Cha, Glitter, and Marbles backing up Mariah Carey, but given the way Mrs. B’s piling cookies onto Louise’s tray, the inference is obvious.

 

          “You don’t have to drink that, you know.”

 

          Zeke starts, sloshing a bit of punch on his hand. “Dang, T-Bird, you snuck up on me.”

 

          “Yeah, sorry,” Tina says, exchanging a bottle of water for the offensive punch, which she promptly hides behind the television.

 

          “You look nice,” he says, and instantly regrets it, fearing it will reignite hopes in Tina’s heart. But she does look nice, sexy even, and he has a feeling she doesn’t hear it often enough.

 

           Tina grunts, her gaze following his to watch Linda and Louise. Linda, wearing her brightest Christmas sweater and glittery reindeer antlers, shoos her daughter away from the table. Louise, her expression thunderous, stomps over to her father.

 

          “Them two gals ain’t got a clue how alike they are,” Zeke says, more as a cover for staring at Louise than anything else.

 

          “Nuttier than squirrel poop,” Tina agrees cheerfully.

 

          Well, he can work with that. Zeke likes a gal with passion. He knows from experience that Louise is a bottomless well of passions of all sorts. All he has to do is wait out the next year and a half and she’ll be his firecracker of a girlfriend, officially and publicly. No more sneaking around, he’ll be a gentleman, pick her up for dates, buy her little gifts she doesn’t have to lie about, like the earrings she’s told everyone she bought for herself on sale.   Sure, Mr. and Mrs. B will be upset at first, but he'll win them over in the end.  Neither of them are the type to stand in the way of their children's happiness, both of them like him, and Mrs. B is a soft touch for any romantic story, whereas Mr. B is a soft touch for his youngest daughter in general.  Once they see how happy Louise and Zeke are together, how good he is to her, they'll be fine--hell, they might even be _glad_ she found a man who cares for and protects her while she's so young.  Tina is droaning on about Jimmy Junior, how he promised to stop by for the party, but Zeke isn’t listening. Mr. Fischoeder has lots of cheap rentals, and sometimes offers discounts to favored Associates; Zeke doesn’t know how many lazy Sundays of pot-laced lovemaking it will take to convince Louise to move in with him, but he’s eager to find out.

 

          “Come here, Louise!”

 

           “Take a picture with us, Louise!”

 

           Jimmy Junior is absent, but his brothers were among the first to arrive, wearing identical headbands with a sprig of mistletoe dangling over their foreheads. They’ve spent the entire time cheerfully grazing off of both long tables, complimenting everything, and taking pictures of themselves pecking the cheeks of all the ladies present, Ollie on the left, Andy on the right.

 

          Tina watches Louise roll her eyes and grumble, but still smile sweetly as she poses for the camera. “They’re so obvious.” Tina shakes her head, apparently forgetting how she herself had blushed furiously at the twin's attentions.

 

          Zeke’s eyes narrow slightly as the photographer snaps their picture. He doesn’t dare lay a finger on his beautiful Amazon in public, for fear the energy between them will give away the game, but those assholes can run their hands all over her in front of God and everybody and it’s cute, apparently. Andy has his hand on her shoulder, but Ollie snakes his arm around her waist, the sparkle in his eyes making it all too clear how much he appreciates the fit of her sweater dress. The water bottle in Zeke’s hand crinkles under the pressure of his clenched fist.

 

         The doorbell rings twice, and the entire party yells, “Come in!”

 

         “That’s my cue,” Tina says, and makes her way over to the stairwell to greet the newest reveler.

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

          Tina’s glad she avoided being roped into serving; she does enough of that at work, and doesn’t want to risk spilling something on her dress. No, greeter suits her just fine. More than fine, as she watches the newest arrival climb the stairs up to the apartment.

 

_Our Heroine watches breathlessly as the Viking approaches, his wavy hair flowing over his shoulders like liquid gold, the front pulled back to reveal a handsome, brooding face. He shrugs off his grey coat revealing a lean, muscular body clad in chocolate-brown trousers and a dark green sweater._

 

          Tina steps forward to take his coat. “Hi, Logan. Long time no see.”

 

          “Yeah,” he says. “Three, four years, isn’t it, uh, Tina?”

 

         She smiles vacantly. His dark blue eyes are starred with long, golden lashes, and he’s grown into his large nose. The thick brows that gave him a sullen appearance as a teen now lend him an air of depth and seriousness. He’s easily one of the handsomest men she’s ever seen—unusually for Tina, she even likes his scruffy sand colored beard. He’s a Viking who could model suits or something.

 

_He’s an Armani Viking, and Our Heroine is a village eager for the pillaging._

          “So…”

 

          “Uh, yeah, I’ll just…” Tina gestures vaguely with his coat. “I should warn you, Mom and Dad have kind of a competition going. With the food.”

 

          His smile is dazzling. “Thanks, Tina.”

 

          “I’m sorry, uh, about your mom.” Her brows are knit with the aggressively sympathetic concern he’s seen on the face of every woman around him since his mother received her diagnosis.

 

          Logan’s smile slips; do these chicks think they’re all Oprah, and he wants to cry on their shoulders or something?  The only reason he came to this stupid party was to get some relief from his mother, whom he last saw an hour ago crying at her makeup table, wig slightly askew, upset because she couldn’t draw on her brows evenly. His relationship with his parents is complicated during the best of times, and his mother’s cancer hasn’t made it any easier.

 

          “Yeah, thanks. She’s at home now, recuperating. She’s doing fine, so far.”

 

           It’s the answer he gives everyone, and it’s mostly true. She’s recovering well from her mastectomy, her numbers look good, but Logan knows the whole terrible ordeal has left scars on his mother’s mind as well as her body. He blinks hard, trying to rid himself of the sight, the sound of his mother’s tantrum, the eyebrow pencil flung across the room in frustration.

 

          Tina asks him about school, about living and working upstate in Newark, peeping coyly up at him with big doe eyes. He answers his hostess politely, always glad to talk about his job, but Logan doesn’t give Tina, the woman, a second glance. She’s cute enough—great figure—but wins no points with him for her obvious interest. Logan is too used to being admired by women to be flattered.

 

          It’s Tina’s turn to talk, and she goes on about writing and zombies or something like that. Nothing interesting, nothing requiring his attention. He takes in the apartment. Those crazy bikers who, respectively, threatened to cut off his ears and gave birth in the Belcher’s restaurant, are off in the corner, entertaining a tall Black…transwoman or cross-dresser, he’s not sure…wearing a skimpy white thong outfit. First one biker, then the other, crushes empty beer cans on their foreheads, the woman staggering slightly as she recovers. Bob is trying to shove a crostini heaped with crab dip into the mortician’s mouth. Linda, taking advantage of the distraction, quietly removes a warming pan of something from his table. Gene is staring out the bay window, clearly waiting for someone to arrive.

 

          God, this was a bad idea. Why didn’t he just go to a bar or something if he needed to get out? Even though Linda’s invitation seemed sincere enough, he didn’t take it seriously at first. She has no reason to like him or his family—he knows he was a real shithead when he “worked” for them all those years ago. Was she trying to fill out the guest list? But their apartment is stuffed, overflowing with friends and neighbors. Maybe…she was being nice just because?

 

         Logan shakes his head. There’s nothing for him here. He’ll stay an hour, long enough to be courteous. Tina’s switched over to talking about grad school applications when something, or rather someone, catches his eye.

 

         A tall woman, one of the help if the heaping tray in her large hand means anything, stands with her back to him, wearing a pine-green sweater dress that hugs her perfect bottom. Wedge-heeled, thigh-high oxblood leather boots accent her coltish legs. Long black hair in a high ponytail cascades down her back.  _Well, there’s a reason to stay._

 

         But then she turns, and his stomach drops in sick horror. A flash of gold hoop earrings, a familiar profile, and Louise Belcher is staring at him, her large dark eyes snapping with irritation. Her full lips, shiny with gloss, curve into a smirk as she walks over to him with long, fluid strides that make her hips sway.

 

         Louise stops directly in front of him. His arms are crossed and his trademark sneer is firmly in place, but his blue eyes twinkle with suppressed laughter, at himself, her, or the whole situation she isn’t sure. She doesn’t care. Buttface is in her house, looking down on her both metaphorically and literally—she’s a touch over six feet in her boots, he must be six-five or so—and she can’t do a fucking thing about it.

 

         “Doucheberry.”

 

          “Four-Ears.”

 

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

 

            They pause a moment, sizing each other up.

 

            “So, you remember each other,” Tina says tonelessly. She didn’t miss Logan’s disinterest in her conversation, nor did she miss Logan mentally undressing her sister. At least he looked disgusted with himself when he realized who she is.

 

            “Yeah, Tina.” Louise puts a hand on her hip and gives him her best ball-withering stare. “I think I’d remember the asshole who stole my ears and used me as a human shield.”

 

            “You’re still sore about that?” Logan waves his hand dismissively. “I’d forgotten all about that kid shit. Don’t worry,” he leans in, looking down his nose at her. “When you’re an adult, you’ll realize how unimportant stuff like that is.”

 

            Louise barks a big, false laugh that catches the attention of several people around them, including Zeke. “Oh, a joke about my youth. Are you sure you don’t remember because you’re senile, Logan? You have to be what, eighty now?”

 

            “Nice, Four-Ears. Did you read that one in _Remedial Insults for Dummies_?”

 

            “At lease I _can_ read, _Doucheberry_.”

 

            Logan bursts into laughter. Genuinely amused, the sound is rich and musical, and Louise could slap herself for finding even that little thing about him pleasant or attractive. She opens her mouth to say something cutting—what, she doesn’t know—but is stopped by the familiar feel of a broad hand on the small of her back.

 

            “Hey girl, yer momma wants to see you.” Zeke throws Logan an evil look.

 

            “Well, it looks like you’ve been granted a reprieve. Enjoy the party, buttface.” Louise makes a dismissive wave in Logan’s general direction as she turns.

 

            Tina, who melted into the background through their entire exchange, doesn’t miss a thing. Not the hand that hasn’t left Louise’s back, or the glower that Zeke shoots Logan, which Logan returns with an amused but disdainful glance.

 

            _No._

 

           No…it…it…Zeke isn’t being territorial; he’s just being protective. Like a friend. Or a big brother.

 

            But Tina, her instincts honed by years of romantic daydreaming, knows better.

 

            Tina can’t tell if her mother is dressing Louise down or not; Louise’s back is to her, and her body language is unreadable. Zeke’s however, is obvious. He strokes the small of Louise’s back lightly, comfortingly. When her mother turns away he looks up at Louise, and for just a second he practically has heart emojis dancing in his eyes. Louise gazes down at him, radiating a satisfaction, a gentleness Tina never thought she’d associate with her sister.

 

            The briefest of glances don’t just start the biggest romances, they reveal them too. Tina knows.

 

            Tina knows _everything_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured Tina would find out at the party, but I wasn’t sure how to go about it. The obvious way was for her to find them kissing or something, but I decided against it, reasoning that it would be a logistical issue as well as…well, obvious. Personally, I thought the accidental reveal via body language would be more interesting. 
> 
> Logan’s smoking was inspired by another fanfic author. If you love Louigan, go over to Wattpad and look up “Smokin,” by sxbjective.


	13. TWELVE

                 Gene all but presses his nose against the glass of the bay window. Behind him, he can hear his parents arguing yet again, but their sniping has become background noise over the past few months, so he ignores it. _Where’s Michael?_

 

                Gene was able to get the evening off, but of course Miss Justine Case is under contract. Michael promised to come over as soon as he could, and it’s already 9:30. Surely he’ll arrive soon.

 

                 Sighing, Gene turns away from the window, hoping he can sneak a snack from one or both of his parent’s tables while they’re distracted. He spots Tina fleeing from a devastatingly handsome blonde man, and wonders both who this guy is, and what embarrassing thing Tina did this time.

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

            Tina slams the door to her parent’s room behind her, tosses Logan’s coat on the heap of winter wear on the bed, and closes her eyes, taking deep, steadying breaths. She kicks off her heels so she can better pace away her nervous energy, rubbing her clammy neck.

 

            How long has this been going on? Thinking back, she figures it probably started over the summer—good grief, did he even wait for Louise’s sixteenth birthday? How long has he been grooming her? Concern for her sister, rage at Zeke, and guilt for introducing a predator to her family swirl together in her brain, topped off with a hefty dollop of jealousy. So much makes sense now, and she feels like an absolute imbecile for not catching it earlier.

 

            This is the reason Tina never understood Louise’s snooping tendencies; Tina hates it when unwanted knowledge is thrust upon her, like now—why in the hell does Louise seek it out?  Now that Tina knows the truth, she’s obliged to do something with it. How the hell is she going to break it to their parents? Their mother will go into hysterics, but their father will be devastated by Zeke’s betrayal.

 

            The combination of shock and Spanx are making it difficult to breathe, to the point she’s starting to actually feel a touch light-headed. She plops down on her parent’s bed, closes her eyes, and focuses on unclenching her shoulders, bringing her breathing under control. Feeling a bit better, she opens her eyes, determined to shove her feelings to one side and deal with cold, hard facts.

 

            It occurs to her that what Zeke has done is incontrovertibly immoral, unethical, and generally shitty…but is it illegal? Louise is very young, but eighteen is only the age of majority, not necessarily the age of legality. What _is_ the legal age in New Jersey, anyway?

 

            Tina left her phone on her father’s dresser, so she can check her messages as she drops off coats, in the hopes that Jimmy Junior will ping her when he’s on his way over. She picks it up and unlocks it, discovering, with a pleasant jolt, that he’s sent her a text.  Her web search can wait a minute.

 

 **Jimmy Junior:** Sorry, Tina, I can’t make it over tonight. :-(

 

 **Jimmy Junior:** Maybe we can get coffee tomorrow? ;-)

 

            Tina the teenager would have been disappointed, but wrung hope from the emojis, convinced they indicate genuine feelings. Adult Tina, her emotions already shredded, isn’t fooled. It’s the old trap, the old rhythm, as familiar to her as Jimmy Junior’s kisses; he acts like an ass, she gets mad, he offers her either a crumb of affection or makes some big, dumb grand gesture, and she forgives him. Wash, rinse, repeat.

 

            It’s the last straw for Tina. Stupid, blind, slow-witted Tina, with her big ass and dimpled thighs; dumped a freaking week before Christmas, rejected by Zeke, dismissed by the Armani Viking in favor of her lithe, gorgeous baby sister. Tina grabs a pillow, smashes it against her face, and screams.

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

           

            “ _Helloooooo_ , lovely people!”

 

             Miss Case, wearing a perfectly coiffed Marilyn Monroe wig and a faux mink coat, posses at the top of the stairs.  Gene stands beside her with stars in his eyes.

 

            Linda’s voice, louder than she intended, carries over the noise of the radio and guests. “Oh my God, a real celebrity at my party, I can’t believe it.”

 

            Miss Case blows her a kiss. “Merry Christmas to you, too.”

 

            She daintily shrugs off her coat into Gene’s hands, revealing a sequined red caftan, cinched at the waist with a wide belt. “Thank you, darling,” she smiles, lightly kissing his cheek.

 

            Flushed, he takes the coat and hurries off to his room.

 

            “Gene and I planned a little treat for all of you,” Miss Case positions herself in front of the Christmas tree. “If you don’t mind, Mr. and Mrs. Belcher?”

 

            “Sure,” Bob says, drowned out by his wife loudly ordering Louise to turn off the radio.

 

            “Oh my God, don’t have a crap attack, Mom,” Louise shouts back, making the crowd titter with laughter. She exchanges a conspiratorial eye-roll with Jane on her way over to the radio.

 

            Gene makes his way over to the tree and stands a bit behind Miss Case, allowing her center stage. He adjusts the strap to the doumbek, which he bought at a garage sale last summer, on his shoulder, and begins to tap a rhythm on the drum.

 

            “I’d like to share one of my favorite Christmas songs with you.” Miss Case nods to Gene. She mouths a count-down, then begins.

 

“ _Come they told me_  
_Pa rum pum pum pum_

_A new born king to see_  
_Pa rum pum pum pum_

_Our finest gifts we bring_  
_Pa rum pum pum pum_ ”

 

            Miss Case’s voice is high and clear, reaching to every corner of the room. Louise spots her sister and Zeke quietly make their way down the hall. _What’s going on there?_ Louise resolves to investigate as soon as the song is over. She smirks, catching her father quietly slip behind his distracted wife and dip a chip into the nacho cheese fountain. They’ve been doing shit like that all night; she’s lost track of the number of spiced olives her mother’s downed.

 

“ _Little baby_  
_Pa rum pum pum pum_

  
_I am a poor boy too_  
_Pa rum pum pum pum_

_I have no gift to bring_  
_Pa rum pum pum pum_

  
_That's fit to give our king_

  
_Pa rum pum pum pum,_  
_Rum pum pum pum,_  
_Rum pum pum pum”_

 

            Louise feels a lump rise in her throat. She fights it down; what is it about this song that hits her right in the feels? Gross!

 

“ _Shall I play for you_  
_Pa rum pum pum pum_  
_Pa rum pum pum_  
_Pum pum pum pum_

_Mary nodded_  
_Pa rum pum pum pum_

  
_The ox and lamb kept time_  
_Pa rum pum pum pum_ ”

 

            Miss Case begins to clap, nodding at the audience, encouraging them to do the same. First Linda and Gretchen join in, then a smattering of others, and finally everyone is clapping in rhythm, a few stamping their feet too.

 

 

“ _I played my drum for him_  
_Pa rum pum pum pum_

  
_I played my best for him_  
_Pa rum pum pum pum,_  
_Rum pum pum pum,_  
_Rum pum pum pum_ ”

 

            Miss Case pauses, smiling with shining eyes.

 

“ _Then he smiled at me_  
_Pa rum pum pum pum_  
_Me and my drum_ ”

 

            Tears are openly streaming down Linda’s face by this point. Louise looks around, and spots more than a few glistening eyes, hears sniffles. She spots Logan brush his hair back from his face with his whole hand, the meat of his thumb running across his left eye. The angry nine-year-old in her wants to point and laugh at Emo Logan, her arch-nemisis, crying over some dumb Christmas song. But then she remembers his mother, fighting for her life during the most disgustingly emotional part of the year, and adult empathy takes over.  She looks away before she can catch his gaze. Pretending she didn’t see anything is her Christmas gift to him.

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

            Zeke, curious but suspecting nothing amiss, follows Tina into her parent’s room. She said she wanted his opinion. Maybe she’s planning a gift for Louise, wants a second pair of eyes for color or something?

 

            Tina closes the door behind them and swings around. Her face twisted in fury—seriously, that is _not_ a normal expression for a human—and slaps him so hard he reels back.

 

            “What the fuck is with you Belcher women and slappin’?” Stunned, he tenderly fingers the hot handprint on his face, half-expecting Mrs. B to stomp in and wollop his other cheek. He never thought Tina was that strong.

 

            Her nostrils flared, her fists trembling, Tina growls, “ _She’s sixteen_.”

 

            Zeke’s stomach drops. The gig is up, and he knows it.

 

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

            “Oh Bobby, I’m so sorry,” Linda wails, flinging herself into her husband’s arms. “You planned such a nice menu and I should have helped you, not tried to compete with you. The olives are delicious, by the way.”

 

            Bob kisses his wife. “I’m sorry too, Lin. I was tactless. I should have backed off. And the nacho cheese fountain was a good idea.”

 

            “Get a room, you two,” Louise’s laugh is slightly shaky. She didn’t realize how much her parent’s constant bickering upset her until she saw them make up.

 

            A wave of warm fuzzies engulfs the party. Critter tenderly embraces his wife, who nuzzles him in return. Andy and Ollie wipe tears from each other’s eyes, and Ollie holds the tissue so his brother can blow his nose.

 

            Jane’s voice, strung taught with nerves, cuts over the noise. “Jackie, do you think that’s true? That giving your best, even if it’s humble, is the most important thing of all?”

 

            Jackie blinks in astonishment. Jane has a death-grip on her hands, and her eyes blaze with an intensity she’s never seen there before. So much love, so much fear…Jackie’s heart races, simultaneously suspecting but disbelieving where this is going.

 

            “Of course,” Jackie says.

 

            “I don’t have much to offer you, except my heart,” Jane says in a small, clear voice, dropping to one knee. She fumbles in her hip pocket and pulls out a plain gold band. “I-I love you so much, Jackie. Will you marry me?”

 

            The entire party, having come to a halt to watch the drama, sighs a happy “ _Awwww_!”

 

            Jackie frees a hand and digs into her own her own pocket, from which she retrieves a small diamond ring. “Oh my God, I’ve…I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask…I never thought _you’d_ ask _me_!”

 

            “That’s how I knew I could surprise you! So, will you marry me or not?”

 

            “Yes! Of course! Yes!”

 

            Jane, with happy tears in her eyes, springs to her feet to kiss her new fiancé. The women exchange engagement rings, and everyone surrounds the couple to offer their congratulations. Louise is delighted for them, of course—she’s already loudly announced her status as bridesmaid—but she uses the chaos to slip down the hall. She’ll congratulate them later. She saw Tina lead Zeke away to their parent’s bedroom earlier. The expression on Zeke’s face was innocent enough, but Louise didn’t like the grim lines around Tina’s mouth.

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

            Zeke runs a thumb across the hot mark on his face and sizes Tina up quickly. Quivering with rage, she stares at him with angry tears in the corners of her eyes, just daring him to deny it.

 

            “How long has this been going on?” Tina demands in a dangerously low voice. “When did you start grooming her?”

 

            “Now T-Bird, I don’t know what’s got yer panties in a twist—“

 

            “I know what’s going on, Zeke, I’m not stupid. And if you don’t start talking now, I’m going to march out there and tell my parents _everything_.”

 

            “Let’s sit down,” he says with a sigh, making room for the two of them to sit on the bed. Tina crosses her arms and continues standing, a perfect picture of defiance, but Zeke takes a seat. He licks his lips. Honesty—more or less—he decides, is the best policy right now.

 

            “Sometimes—only when I’m in town, mind ya—yer sister and I like to spend a li’l time together. It ain’t serious, and it ain’t been goin’ on long.  We’re just friends with benefits.”

 

            “Uh-huh. Did you at least wait until she hit her teens before you started diddling her?”

 

            “Shit, Tina, it ain’t like that at all! I just started seeing her…that way…this summer. I—I really like yer sister, Tina. I know it ain’t technically legal an’ all, but—“

 

            “Legal?” Tina blinks at him. “She’s been legal since she turned sixteen, dumbass. I’m talking about—“

 

            “Say _whut_?”

 

            “Eighteen is the age of _majority_ ,” Tina rolls her eyes. “The age of _consent_ in New Jersey is sixteen.”

 

            “No way!”

 

            “Yes, way.” She frowns at him. “You really didn’t know, did you?”

 

            Zeke can’t stop grinning. “No, I didn’t, I thought—well thanks, T, that’s a load off my mind!”

 

            Tina’s so mad she shakes both fists at him. “You _idiot_! You’re. Missing. The. Point. What do you think my parents would do if they knew you you're fooling around with her! You’ve totally betrayed their trust!”

 

            _That_ hits home. He visibly blanches. Satisfied, Tina pushes forward. “I mean, they probably never told you in so many words not to screw their baby, but I think it’s implied.”

 

            “Look Tina, I—will ya sit down? Please? Ya wanted to talk, so let’s talk.”

 

            Tina flomps down next to him. If looks could kill, he’d be a smoking pile of ash.

 

            Zeke chews his bottom lip. “Okay, I ain’t proud of the way it started, and I hate the idea of hurting yer parents. They’ve been good to me.”

 

            “So what are you doing? I know, I know, Louise is _mah-too-ur_ for her age and—“

 

            “Mature for her age? _Yer_ sister? Come on, T-Bird, half the time I can't tell if she's sixteen goin' on forty, or sixteen goin' on four.”

 

            Tina deflates slightly. She was so sure that was the line he was going to take. “So, what then?  You were willing to risk prison to be with her.”

 

            “She’s…we get along good, Tina.” He runs a hand through his hair, wishing he were as good with words as Tina is. “She’s smart, an’ feisty, an’—“

 

            “Hot,” Tina spits.

 

            Both of Zeke’s cheeks burn now. “Yeah, but her looks ain’t the half of it. We got lots of stuff in common, an’…an’ we make sense together. I can’t really...she just _does_ it for me, Tina.  She belongs to me, and I—“ He picks at the buttons of one of the coats, “—I belong to her.”

 

            “Oh my God,” Tina breathes, “You _love_ her, don’t you?”

 

            She braces herself for a glib joke, a denial, but Zeke sighs deeply. “Well shit, T-Bird, donchoo think I know that already?”

 

            They’re quiet for a moment, as Tina turns the notion over in her mind. Zeke pushes forward, determined to take advantage of the ground he’s gained, knowing he’s finally said the only thing that will make her listen to him.

 

            “I—it—it ain’t what I planned on at all, but I do.” His mouth twitches. “I ain’t never…she’s my—my first…”

 

            “First love?”

 

            “Yeah,” he stands up and begins to pace. “You think I don’t know how fucked up this is? I’m tryin’ to do right by her, but--”

 

            “Then leave her alone,” Tina says quietly. “Tell her you made a mistake, that you don’t love her, and she only thinks she loves you.”

 

            “She don’t know I love her. As far as she knows, we’re just friends with benefits.”

 

            “Really?”

 

            “Well, yeah. I’ve been doin’ some reading about age differences. Ever hear of Dan Savage?”

 

            Has _Tina_ ever heard of Dan Savage? She’s only been reading the sex advice columnist since she was thirteen! “Yeah…?”

 

            “Well, he tells the older half of the couple to follow the campsite rule. Ya know, leave the younger one in a better state than how ya found ‘em. I can’t do that and let her know I love her. It would screw up her teens.”

 

            Tina can’t believe she’s actually listening to this. She should just march out there and tell her father right now! But Zeke looks so earnest; his hazel eyes plead with her consider his side. “What do you mean?”

 

            “Okay, T, look. You know my high school years weren’t exactly...clean, right?”

 

            Tina remembers him being high most of the time. Everyone knew he was the guy you wanted to see for the good stuff—he never sold stems and seeds, or plain chocolates in place of cannabis edibles; he was discreet and reliable. “Uh-huh.”

 

            Zeke is sure she isn’t aware of half of it, and this isn’t the time to enlighten her. She knows enough, she’s considering his perspective, and that’s what matters. “I _went_ to high school, but I didn’t _do_ high school, girl. I don’t want that for Louise. I want her to have a normal experience, and she ain’t gonna git that with me hangin’ all over her. I don’t wanna be the one who fucks up her grades an’ shit.”

 

            Tina snorts.

 

            “Hey, it could happen,” Zeke shrugs. “She wouldn’t be the first bright gal run off the rails by some guy. Ya wouldn’t know it now, but my momma was top of her class before she had me.”

           

            “So you're okay with her dating around? Screwing other guys?”

 

            A long pause. “I gotta be, T-Bird, fer her sake.”

 

            “Oh.” Tina knows she’s been routed.  

 

            Zeke starts to speak, but the door flies open, and Louise barges in—she never knocks. “Guys, you missed it!  Jane proposed to Jackie!”

 

            Louise blinks, suddenly taking the temperature of the room. “Hey, why so serious?”

 

            “Go, I want to talk to my sister in private.”

 

            Zeke quietly leaves, exchanging what he hopes is an encouraging look with Louise, but he looks more like a kicked puppy to her. She instantly bristles, and barely waits until he closes the door behind him.

 

            “What the hell, Tina?”

 

            Tina stands up. “Don’t. Don’t start with me.”

 

            Louise laughs a little, nervously, suspecting the worst. “Look, I don’t know what you think—“

 

            “I know everything, Louise, more than you do.” Tina’s toe-to-toe with Louise, her voice dangerously quiet. “Don’t treat me like I’m stupid. You and Zeke. I know.”

 

            Louise crosses her arms, looking down at her sister with such a perfect imitation of Logan’s sneer that Tina almost laughs. “So, what are you going to do about it, narc on me?”

 

            “No, I’m not. I’m going to leave hurting and disappointing Mom and Dad to you.”

 

            _Well, that knocks some of the wind out of her sails._ Tina smiles inwardly. It’s worth taking the high road just to see the look on Louise’s face.

 

            “If they ask me directly about you two, I won’t lie, and I won’t hide anything for you either. In return, he doesn’t work for our family ever again.”

 

            “Come on, T—“

 

            “And you’re going to be the one who tells him. It’s either that or I go out there right now and let Dad know what his precious baby girl has been doing behind his back.”

 

            “Woah. Woah-woah-woah. Woah. Slow down, Tina.” Louise flashes her sister her most charming smile. “You’re blowing everything out of propor—“

 

            “Damn it, stop it! I’ve had this conversation with Zeke already. The bottom line is simple; you’re a sneaking, lying little brat and I’m not letting you destroy this family with—“

 

            “Hey! Too far, T.” Smile gone, Louise steps into her sister’s personal space, finger pointed at her nose. “I’m sorry you’re jealous, but that gives you no right—“

 

            “I have every right!” Tina’s finger is in Louise’s face now. “Someone’s got to reign you in and—“

 

            “Don’t you talk—“

 

            The door opens, and Gene pokes his head in. All it takes is one glance at his red-faced sisters, each about two seconds from lunging at the other’s throat, and he knows what’s going on.

 

            “Heyyyyyyy, you two. Uh, it’s-it's Christmas?”

 

            They turn, both looking at him like he’s an idiot. That’s okay; he feels like an idiot.

 

            Gene slips into the room and shuts the door behind him. “Ladies, come on—“

 

            Tina swings in his direction, pointing her index finger at him like a rapier. “You! You knew!”

 

            “Uhhh…”

 

            “About her and Zeke! And you did nothing to stop it, did you? Didn’t say a thing to me, let me look like a fool!”

 

            “Come on Tina, this is an impossible situation for me. You’d understand if you spent more time here.”

 

            “Oh no, don’t you start on me! Why the hell would I spend more time here? I barely get to finish a sentence. Did either of you know I’ve finished my book and I’m looking for an agent? That I made a 3.6 last semester? You know _nothing_ about my life because you’re so wrapped up in your stupid teen dramas! Neither of you calls me unless you want something, and I’m sick of it! You want advice? Figure shit out for yourselves, I’m done.”

 

            Tina feels tall and terrible, triumphant in the face of her sibling’s slack-jawed silence. She grabs her shoes and marches past them. She flings open the door, turns with a parting shot. “And I’m looking at grad school in Iowa!”

 

            Tina stomps down the hall, enters her tiny closet room—how she regrets offering up her hold room to Louise—and forces herself to sit down. This kind of rage better suits Louise; Tina doesn’t know how to handle it. Her hands are shaking, spots dance before her eyes, and her heart is thumping so loudly in her ears she’s afraid she’s going to have an aneurysm. Tina closes her eyes and forces herself to take deep, steady, calming breaths.

 

            She loves her family, but she’s nothing like them; she doesn’t fit in here at all. She loves her hometown, but it’s not her home. Maybe it never was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Everyone,
> 
> First, thank you so much for reading, commenting, bookmarking, and offering kudos. I really appreciate it! This story was fun to write, but more challenging than its predecessors, partly because the chapters were longer—I didn’t want to finish posting a Christmas/Hanukkah story around Easter/Passover in real time—and partly because there are more plotlines going on. Seeing my numbers go up was quite encouraging.
> 
> As per usual, I have to credit “Archer” for the best references here. Obviously, I don’t own “Bob’s Burgers,” “Archer,” or any of the other pop culture I ruthlessly pillage for my own writing; I’m just borrowing other people’s toys.
> 
> I knew I wanted to write a holiday time story, but I didn’t want it to be a typical holiday story. Whether written by pros or not, I usually find them unendurably saccharine, with plots that are tidily cleaned up by the end of the story. That’s just not my cup of tea. Tina and Louise in particular are left with a lot to work out here.
> 
> I’ve already started sketching out the follow-up to this story, which I hope to start posting within a month. It takes place the following spring break, and I anticipate following Louise’s friendships with Jessica, Rudy, the Pesto twins, and probably others too. I want to start bridging Louise’s teen years into her young adulthood, as well as exploring the consequences of her actions.
> 
> Yours truly,  
> DangerFloof


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